


Case 1: Cancio and the Commonwealth Caper

by Remington



Series: Cancio Case Files [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Detectives, F/M, Film Noir, SO MUCH BANTER, candy and nick were rivals before the war, honestly the game did us SO dirty by nick, i mess around with canon for a little bit so be prepared, im always weak for a dynamic duo, quick to update, shouts at bethesda to let me love nick, so here i am with my laptop and lack of fucks to give to remedy that, though honestly if i followed canon to a tee this story would be boring af lmao, we all love a rivalmance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-05-16 09:52:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19315753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Remington/pseuds/Remington
Summary: The dame was electric on the courtroom floor. He'd never seen anything like it - never seen the complete assurance with which every one of her clients carried, knowing Candy Cancio, Boulder of Boston, was defending them. It wasn't uncommon for her opponents just to give up beforehand, rather than risk social suicide at the hands of her humiliation. Honestly, he would have been impressed - if not for the fact that she defended the most vile criminals Boston P.D. had ever seen. Nick wasn't keen on letting her reign over the justice system with iron evening gloves, but unfortunately, the broad could talk her way in and out of trouble like he ordered a drink.200 years later, and Nick Valentine had a hard enough time dealing with an identity he didn't deserve, but when a ghost from that identity's past suddenly shows herself in a tight blue vault suit and a familiar smirk, he suddenly wonders if 114 would have been all that bad.





	1. Displeasure to Meet You

JULY 23, 2077

Hard pressed would be the gumshoe who tried to find perfection in his work. Nick Valentine knew this. He knew the way the job grasped at him, the way it scraped its’ nails down his back like a lover and left in the morning without a note or even pausing for a smoke. Satisfaction would never be in his paygrade. Hell, he wasn’t sure if it even included victory’s kiss on the cheek.

Any seasoned vet would say: that’s how it’s supposed to be, kid. Get satisfied, you get proud. Get proud, you get big. Get big, you start forgetting the little guys under your boot. Forget the little guys, and only two things can happen: you start stepping on them, or they make a big guy of their own, and he steps on you. The only way to stay alive in this job was to keep small – and just make sure the bad guys stayed smaller.

Easier said than done.

“Valentine,” came a voice from the door. The frosted glass didn’t illuminate to him their identity. But he didn’t need illumination. He knew that voice anywhere.

“Come on in, Chief Widmark.” He snubbed his cigarette into the ashtray. The embers were just dying when the Chief walked in, like they were ashamed to burn in his presence. The Chief just had that affect on people. Made you want to sink a little bit lower, hide the parts of yourself you knew he’d flaw – the trick to his respect was not doing exactly that. So, Nick straightened, smiled a lazy smile, and nodded. Chief nodded right back.

“For you.” A packet was tossed on his desk. “Merry Christmas.”

“Aw, Chief,” Nick chuckled, “But it’s July.”

“You want to tell Santa, or should I?”

“Nah, don’t disappoint the old coot,” he said, reaching for the paper. One flick of manila and he was sliding the parchment onto his desk. He raised a brow when they audibly _thunked_. “Hefty stack of trees here, Chief.” From beneath his hat, his eyes flicked up. “Am I about to be real busy?”

“Nothing less for my boy, you know,” Chief grumbled. “Take your time and read it, Nicky.”

And read it he did. Mrs. Roberta always praised him in gradeschool for his quick comprehension. He felt her pride even now as he devoured page after page, lightning fast and definitely earning that gold star on his report card. Something a little less than joy was in his gut as he finished, however.

Chief could read his face. Consequently, the words on his lips before he spoke them. “Yeah, it’s him. I thought we’d get him locked up too, this time.”

“And here I was looking at champagne …” came his mutter. The next page turned and his jaw clenched. “Trial’s next month, huh? What, they ain’t convinced?”

“Apparently seven witness testimonies just ain’t persuasive like they used to be.”

“Too late to mourn for the good old days?” Nick tossed the file back. It offended him. Just an innocent packet of paper, but god it _offended_ him, and he swore he saw those crinkles sneer. Jenny would laugh, he knew it. She said his dramatics were the only thing colorful about Boston P.D., and man could he have used her cheer right now. If he was so colorful, then why was this day turning so damn gray?

His hand rubbed over his mouth. He sighed. “Don’t suppose we’re lucky enough to know the lawyer yet, eh?”

“Oh, well,” Chief managed to laugh without humor, “We do, but … ain’t sure if you’d call it luck.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because it’s _her_ , Nick.”

Like a fool, he almost asked who _her_ was. “Her”, a mysterious and ominous line heard rarely out of silver screens. He should have laughed, really. Asked Chief who’d been giving him tickets to Humphrey and Fairbanks.

But this wasn’t a movie, and unfortunately, he knew just who “her” referred to.

“…Damn,” he said simply. “Should have seen that coming.”

“If you didn’t, none of us would either.” Chief sighed. “Suggest you armor up, Valentine. Because we both know she’ll turn this into a battleground.”

“Well, just let me fetch my good helmet,” Nick said. Chief laughed, just lightly, breath raspy from his own cigarettes, and waved himself out of the office. Nothing more needed to be said between them. And, really, nothing more _could_ be said. Filler wasn’t part of the job description.

Now, Nick was left alone with that sneering packet, which in his mind, now sneered with a very distinctive set of lips, decorated eyes and a beauty mark just below them. Very personable, for a piece of paper.

He snorted lightly. Picked up another cigarette, and lit it.

“Well then, Cancio…” he said, “Let the battle begin.”

* * *

 

“What’s a lawyer?” Piper asked through her noodles. A few drops of broth were perched on her chin, glistening comedically every time she moved her mouth. “Some kinda mercenary?”

Candy snorted. She ate her noodles much more delicately – mostly because she wasn’t entirely sure they were noodles to begin with. “In the loosest description possible, I suppose so.”

“Wow, I can answer mysteriously too, y’know. Wanna know where I grew up? Somewhere between Who Knows Street and Over That Way Boulevard.”

Piper’s little quip was met with a playful swipe at her hat – one she marvelously defended. “Not the hat, not the hat! Fine, Blue. We’ll come back to it. But don’t think I’m done with you yet.”

“If every reporter was like you before the war,” Candy laughed, “Interviews would have been much more interesting.”

“Hey, that’s almost a compliment, I’ll take it.” Piper winked. “Can you blame me? It’s not every day I meet a gal who lies like a love letter. You had Danny thinking he’d scored supplies for the whole year!”

“I flirt with the truth, darling, don’t call it something so obtuse as _lying_.” Her lips stretched to a grimace. Piper only laughed harder.

“Oh, you flirted alright. Danny was as red as his hair.”

“It’s a talent.” Her brows shot up suggestively. “You know, I didn’t buy you noodles just to boy-talk, Piper. You said you had someone to help me. I do hope that wasn't a lie, too.”

“Oh, right,” and suddenly the reporter looked a little ashamed – a little caught up in the mood of it all. Candy rose a brow. “Sorry about that, Blue. Your kid and all – look, I wasn’t lying. What happened to you … that’s just awful.” Piper chewed on her lower lip, daring out her hand to grasp Candy’s shoulder; a friendly touch, feminine, something one of her pre-war girlfriends would do when she got turned down for a date. Years of practice kept Candy’s face from going soft, and she just stared back at Piper, diplomatic smile on full display.

“So, like I said, if there's someone who can help …”

“Right! Yes, yes, okay. Focusing now.” Piper mimed some kind of laser coming out of her eyes. “Diamond City _does_ boast its’ very own detective agency. It’s right around the back of the shops, neon red sign, can’t miss it.”

Candy took a tentative bite of her maybe-noodles. Patting her mouth with a towel, she cleared her throat. “The name?”

“Valentine’s Detective Agency.”

It didn’t matter how the noodles tasted anymore because they were lodged in her throat, and Candy very much would have liked them out. Piper yelped as she started coughing, one hand over her mouth, and even when the battle was won and she felt that familiar slide of not-noodle-noodles into her stomach, her hands still splayed in concern. Candy waved a hand to show she was fine.

“You said- ah,” clearing her throat again, “ _Valentine_ ’ _s_ Detective Agency?”

“…A little scared to say it again, if I’m honest, but yeah,” Piper muttered. “You, uh, good there, Blue?”

“Dandy.” She wasn’t hungry anymore. “By any chance, this detective’s full name- it isn’t _Nick_ Valentine?” Like it decreased her suspicion, she added, “Just out of curiosity.”

Piper blinked. “Oh, well, yeah, it is. Why, do you know Nicky?”

“Oh…” Candy grimaced, “I sure hope I don’t.”

* * *

 

The first thing her mentor had drilled into her head was that coincidence was a drug. Innocent at first, you’d try it, accept that a few things around you just _happened_ to be like this and that, _happened_ to line up straight, _happened_ right in front of your feet, and it was nothing else to worry about. But then it would be more than _happenings_ – it would be shadowed figures outside your window or a sudden reassignment to a different case, and hooked on coincidence? You wouldn’t notice a thing. The only way to beat the drug was to never believe in it in the first place.

Candy thought she’d been pretty good at that. Ever-present was the risk of frigidity in her expressions and she certainly was never labeled a “warm personality”, but it was a small price to pay for a large winning streak. She’d been proud, even in her law school days, that she’d never been tempted to consider that the fates just aligned in a certain way. Eagle-eyed, panther-sensed, mule-stubborn. The trifecta of effectiveness.

Or, well, _not_ so effective after all, because there was nothing Candy wanted more than to believe Nick Valentine just _happened_ to be a very popular name 200 years after the bombs dropped. Her instincts were scrambled like eggs. She wanted, desperately, to think it couldn’t be – sure, _her_ particular case of time travel was nothing to sneeze at, but that hardly meant it was popular. Piper had labeled her the “sole survivor” for a reason. Unless the Nick she knew had _also_ been royally screwed by Vault-Tec in their spare cryogenics, there was just no living way this was him.

 _A ghoul_ , her traitorous mind whispered, _He could always be a ghoul. Plenty of pre-war ones around_.

 _Shut up_ , she thought back to herself, _You’re stupid and I don’t like you._

Unfortunately, Candy’s mind wasn’t stupid. It was very smart. It was very smart and now constantly reminding her of that funny little lesson in coincidence, now two hundred and … something, years old. Her instincts were screaming at her. She just didn’t want to listen.

 _It could still be a mistake_ , she comforted herself as her hand lifted to the doorknob. _It doesn’t have to be him. Maybe it’s not even his real name._ She turned it, greeted by a tiny office, clouded by smoke and horribly lit. A flashback of the P.D. made her visibly flinch. Luckily, her weakness wasn’t seen, because the only other occupant was currently facing away, dragging her thin fingers fondly over a few busted file cabinets.

“Oh, Nick …” the young woman muttered, “Look what you did now …”

 _Oh boy_ , Candy muttered in her mind, _We’ve got ourselves a weeper_.

“Excuse me?” she piped up, and the young woman whirled. A pretty little thing, maybe a few years Candy’s junior. Eyes red, nose sniffing, but to her credit, a strong jaw. She instantly straightened herself at the sight of a customer. Candy’s small respect grew, just a bit. She could always appreciate a good work ethic.

“I’m- I’m sorry,” the woman said, “The agency is … closed.”

“That so?” Candy’s brows rose. “Do you cry every time you close, darling? That seems exhausting.”

The tendrils of irritation crept a little around her face, but otherwise little miss red-eyes remained diplomatic. Good kid. “It’s a little hard to stay open when our detective is missing, ma’am.”

“First off, it’s “miss”, not “ma’am”, I am not _that_ much older than you. Well…” Candy pursed her lips. “Technically, anyway. And secondly, what do you mean, missing?”

She sniffed. “Nick was- he was kidnapped, he’s been gone for weeks. I just know something’s happened to him, it isn’t like him to wait-“

Candy’s hand extended. “Don’t work yourself up. Firstly, what’s your name?”

“Ellie.” She blinked, collected herself. “Ellie Perkins.”

“Well, Ellie Perkins,” Candy said, “Let’s start from the beginning. What did your detective say, do, right before he left? Surely he didn’t sneak away.”

“Of course not!” Ellie defended. Suddenly aware of her dramatics, she pulled back more but otherwise kept her chest puffed. “Nick would never do that. He said he was on a case – a girl had been kidnapped, suspected by Skinny Malone and his gang.”

 _200 years and bombs still can’t change stupid names_ , she thought. Candy folded her arms. She thought. “So, most likely with this Malone character, then. Think he’s dead by now?”

The callousness of it all made Ellie frown. “Not something I would like to think about.”

“Never remember asking if you’d _like_ anything, dear. What do you think he’s doing, if not coming back here?”

For a while, she was quiet. Candy wondered if she’d been just a little too harsh on the girl – clearly, whichever kind of Nick Valentine this was, he was someone she cared a lot about. That wasn’t in her place to ruin. So, she extended her apology the only way she knew how – with a sigh and a wave of her hand. “Oh, okay, let’s have some hope for once. Those gangster types always like to keep their trophies as pets anyways. Maybe he’s worked something out.”

Ellie smiled; just a bit. “Yeah…maybe.”

“So,” Candy lit a cigarette, “Don’t suppose there’s a convenient file on Skinny’s location, by any chance?”

“Actually, there- wait.” Ellie’s expression went from hopeful to concerned to downright disbelieving, all in a record three seconds flat. “You’re not- you’re not considering going _after_ him, are you?”

“No, I asked because I’m looking for vacation homes,” Candy blew a puff of smoke. “What do you think, doll?”

Under her breath, she heard Ellie mutter something, something like _crazy_ and _rude lady_ , but didn’t bother listening after that. The assistant was busy digging through the center desk before she yanked out a folder and all but launched it her way. Impressively, Candy caught it right between two fingers. Her eyes never left Ellie’s.

“Vault 114,” Ellie said, “That’s where most of their activity comes from, anyways.”

“Oh, I love the easy ones…” Candy muttered, thumbing through. “Tell you what, Miss Perkins. Let’s make a deal.” She looked up through the brim of her hat. “I bring your boss, and in return, you two take my case pro bono. How about it?”

“I…” poor thing seemed unsure. Ellie gulped. “It’s Nick’s decision, whatever we charge. You’ll have to discuss it with him.”

“Well, for your sake, hope he’s a good negotiator.” _And if he’s anything like_ that _Nick_ , Candy thought, _He sure as hell will be._


	2. Ghost of Commonwealth Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The infamous rescue from Vault 114, now with infinitely more witty banter and the added joy of annoyed Nick. It must be hard, being rescued by your greatest enemy that, hey, was kind of supposed to have died 200 years ago. Funny how that works.

JANUARY 1, 2070

Nick always thought it was strangely poetic, that they met New Year’s Day. Something about new beginnings, or the start of something else – regardless, it felt meaningful, heavy.

Everyone else in Boston was celebrating except for him. Him and another cop (what was his name? Riley? Rory?) currently camped out in front of Vinnie “The Crackers” Vannucci’s estate, both crammed into an inconspicuous four-door and hoping for the best. They’d been there three hours. The most excitement they’d gotten was the neighbor’s cat scuttling across the hood.

“I’m tellin’ ya, Nicky,” Riley-Rory grumbled, “He’s not coming out.”

“Give it time, kid,” Nick said, “Give it time. How often do you go in and out of your house in the span of a few hours?”

“More than this.” His partner sighed, went to light a cigarette, only to stop at Nick’s dismissive hand.

“Not in the car, kid, c’mon,” Nick moaned, “Have some decorum already.”

With a few comments that he was fairly sure should stay off the record, Riley shoveled away his cancer stick. He contented himself to lean back a little further.

“Don’t fall asleep on me now.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Yeah, not dreamin’ is the point,” Nick said, and they both laughed a bit, before going back to silence. He had to play the pillar in this scenario, he knew, but Nick wouldn’t admit that it was getting to him too. They’d received an anonymous tip that Vinnie was supposed to have been gifting a prized Vannucci heirloom to his niece for New Years – that was the cover, anyway. The tip had suggested that the heirloom was a cover for a large drug shipment due tonight.

A sudden rap at the car window made them both leap, spluttering for their guns. Then Nick saw the source of the noise – very feminine nails, attached to slender, deeply tan fingers with a sparkling ring on the center. His gaze went up. A woman was bent outside his car, and staring at him like _he_ was the intruder.

She motioned for him to roll down the window. He did so. Her grin stretched wide – pearly, perfect teeth, framed by darkly painted lips with a beauty mark just above. Nick blinked at her eyes – smokey, expertly shaded, but even without the makeup they would have been striking; deeply lidded and expressive, a deep shade of brown in her iris. She twirled a bit of her black, curled hair.

“Evening, gentleman,” the woman purred. Nick somehow managed a semi-coherent tip of his hat, while Riley didn’t even manage that much – just a few noises and maybe a gurgle.

“Can we help ya, doll?” Nick said. She rose a brow, smirked.

“As a matter of fact, you can answer a question. Mind telling me why you’ve been parked outside Vinnie’s house for three hours?”

Well. Shit.

Before Riley could infect them with foot-in-mouth syndrome Nick spoke up. He mustered every inch of Chicago charm he could into his tone – which, admittedly, wasn’t a half bad amount. “Doll, it’s a free country. My friend and I here were just listening to a program on the radio, that’s all.”

“That so?” he knew she didn’t believe a word he’d just said. “Which program? I’m always looking for something to pass the time.”

“It’s, uh…” boy, she was toying with him, and he could tell by that little glimmer in her smokey eyes. “Silver Shroud. New Year’s Special.”

Her other brow shot up. A mockery of surprise. “Well, I’ll be! That’s really something. Don’t tell me you turned it off just to talk to little old me, did you?”

“Shroud’s nothing to a beautiful woman, doll,” he offered, and boy did it feel sleazy. What was worse, it didn’t even _work_ , because she appeared, if possible, _more_ unimpressed.

“Alright,” she said, “Cut the crap. My client and I know cops when we see them. You’ve got no reason to be out here.”

“I’m guessin’ you’re the lawyer.” Well, those kinds of rocks, who else could afford them? “If so, we ain’t got nothing more to say to you, than you to us. You should know that.”

“On the contrary, detective, I’ve got a lot to say to you.” Those expertly manicured fingers landed on his door. “Vinnie’s not coming with you, and no amount of brooding in your cheap little roller is going to change that. I know the tip you got, and I know what you’re looking for.” She reminded him of a panther when she smiled, all teeth. “You won’t find him with the “heirloom”, detective. No matter how long you wait.”

“W-Wait, hold on,” Nick held up his hand, while the other discreetly flicked the top of his holster. Something didn’t feel right. “And how’s it that _you_ know about the tip, doll?”

“Because I’m the one who gave it to you. You’ve been on Vinnie’s ass for ages – figured it was time we finally met.” She stuck her hand out. “Candy Cancio, attorney. Currently, Vinnie Vannucci’s private lawyer. A pleasure to know you.” Candy’s eyes narrowed. “Nick Valentine.”

As the pieces fell into place like some grand, annoying jigsaw puzzle, Nick frowned, mostly against the bubble of admiration swelling in his gut. “That was clever,” he wanted to say, but didn’t, because every instinct drilled into him told him not to let a woman like this know your weaknesses. So, all he did was glare at her, but ultimately shake her hand in the end, because instinct or not, he was a gentleman.

“Pleasure’s all mine.”

* * *

 

What else was there to do, trapped in a vault by wannabe gangsters, than to reminisce? Nick would have appreciated it if his traitorous memory banks could choose a less _shameful_ memory than the night he got tricked into a stakeout by a far too sharp dame. Maybe it was his gut, taunting him – _always getting tricked, Nicky. Broads or bozos – all the same_.

 _I’d take the broad over these clowns any day_ , he thought to himself, _at least when I’m getting beat, there’d be a nice face to look at_.

He really must have been here for a while. That was the only reason for him to be thinking about _Candy_ at a time like this, memories 200 years old and not the least bit rusty. Perhaps the environment reminded him of his hungry days, or, specifically, days when he still felt hunger. Confined by the enemy, relying on his instincts to get himself out … though, the notion was a little more attractive when he _could_ get out. He was forced to admit that they’d gotten him pretty damn good this time.

Who’d have thought – the kidnapee, actually Skinny Malone’s gal? It sure sounded like a twist in a bad pulp novel, but right now Nick wished, for once, something in his life _didn’t_ spring straight from film noir.

Ellie must have been worried sick. Poor kid had nobody else but him, whether or not he paid her caps. Must have thought he’d been bumped off by now, somewhere in a deep, sparky ditch while Malone cleaned his hands of it all. He just hoped the girl didn’t do something stupid about it. Could be impulsive when she wanted to, that one.

Tiny footsteps alerted his sensors. He’d long ago given up hope of a rescue. Sure enough, the pinched face of one of Malone’s goons – hell if he was gonna remember the name – peered through the window like some aggravated little ghost. Short stuff could barely see above the rim. Just gave him an amusing view of a pair of beady, narrowed eyes.

“How you doin’ in there, _Valentine_?” he taunted, muffled. Nick rolled his eyes. For the first week he hadn’t even answered them, kept his witty remarks in his coat pocket, but even synthetic patience wore thin and he found his remarks biting back of their own accord. He tried his best to keep quiet while his tormentor continued. “Feeling hungry? Want a snack?”

 _I don’t even eat, idiot_ , he thought. Oh, the temptation. “Keep talkin’, meathead,” he called back, “It’ll give Skinny Malone more time to think of how he’ll bump you off.”

The goon hissed. “Don’t give me that crap, Valentine. You know nothin’, you got nothin’.”

“Really?” Nick pondered, tone almost comically nonchalant. “Hm. I saw him writing your name in that little black book of his.” There was lying, and there was _bad_ lying, with Nick competing strongly for the latter. He didn’t even know the joker’s name. But, it seemed, that was irrelevant, because meathead was suddenly panicked. Inhibitions out the door, Nick grinned – all metallic teeth and glowing irises. “’Lousy, cheating card stark’ I think were his exact words. Then …” he loved some dramatics. Meathead’s unrest widened with his eyes. “He struck the name across. Three. Times.”

Meathead gulped. Impressive, it being audible through the glass. “Three strikes? In the black book? But I never…” don’t laugh, Nick, don’t laugh, “Oh no…I gotta smooth this over, fast!”

“Have at it, kid,” Nick wanted to say. He didn’t get a chance to. Mostly, because the second meathead turned his body was propelled back via bullet-to-the-head. Then, he was still on the floor. With wide eyes, Nick wondered if he really _had_ been kidding about the black book.

And then someone else was in front of the window. She was hard to make out – but it was a _she_ , a mass of dark hair pulled into one wild, curly bun at the top. Slender shoulders were all he could see, under a long duster. The face, unfortunately, was masked, a gas mask with a very impressive stitching job. Nick wasn’t going to take the time to admire more than that – he knew an opportunity when he saw one.

“Hey, you,” he called, “I don’t know who you are, but we got about three minutes before they realize muscles-for-brains ain’t comin’ back. Get this door open.”

If he wasn’t mistaken, she rolled her eyes, judging by the way her neck lolled and her shoulders sagged. So he got a sassy one. Eh, who wanted rescues to be boring, anyways?

Somehow, the dame knew her way around machines ( _don’t_ consider that too much) because the door slid open moments later, and in his savior came, sauntering like a jungle cat and no less dangerous. Something in his sensors pinged. He couldn’t place it, but that walk, that stroll, there was _something_ about it. Something familiar. He had a sudden need for a cigarette.

Nick busied his hands with the lighter while he spoke. “Gotta love the irony of the reverse damsel-in-distress scenario. Question is …” once the stick was between his teeth, Nick inhaled, and wished he could see her reaction to how the smoke brushed out the hole in his neck. “Why did our heroine risk life and limb for an old private eye?”

 _And why the mask?_ He wanted to say, but he wasn’t about to judge the gal. Might have been a ghoul, if she was coming back from his place in Diamond City.

“My god …” was all she said. That _ping_ in his sensors grew into a definite _bzzt_. Familiar. So, so familiar. “It really is you, Nick.”

“Be interested to know the other options, but yeah, it’s me, doll.” Another puff on his cigarette while he looked at her quizzically. “Have we met, or …?”

She paused. He read “unsure” all over her body language. Then, with a grumble, she yanked off her mask – and in return he dropped his cigarette. It wasn’t a _bzzt_ of familiarity anymore. It was just a full-blown alarm bell.

“Candy Cancio?” he hissed. She hid her nervousness well behind those dark eyes with a smirk and tilt of her head.

“Aw, good, you remember me. This would have been very awkward, otherwise.”

“Of course I _remember_ you, what I’m concerned with is why there’s a _you_ to remember!” Nick was gesturing something with his hands, something desperate, but his motions were just as surprised and unsure as the rest of him. “How did you- no, you know what? Ain’t the time. We’re gettin’ outta here, but afterwards?” His eyes fixed on hers. “I’ve got some questions.”

“Play nice, and I’ll have some answers,” Candy taunted. She jerked her head to the hall. “Took out some of the guards at the front, so they won’t be flanking us from behind. All that’s left is to press forward.”

“Doesn’t surprise me you’re good with a gun,” he said. Nick was only slightly sarcastic with the sweep of his hand. “Well, ladies first, then.”

“What a gentleman.” She rolled her eyes. “C’mon.”

* * *

 

“Who invented this vault,” Nick groaned, “A fitness instructor?”

Candy just snorted and easily passed him. “Can’t keep up, old man?”

“I don’t have the shame about it that you want me to have, doll. Of course I can’t.” Nick hopped up another step. A few weeks without oil in the joints will do that to a bot, after all.

But he didn’t get a chance for wallowing, because Candy was pushing him down by the shoulder as they both ducked behind a counter. He shot her a questioning look, but she put a finger to her lips and gestured again – one glance told him of a few Triggermen loitering around the common area. Mighty handy firepower they were packing, too.

In the low light, Candy’s dark skin looked like it glowed, slightly hypnotic while she eased her head over the counter. He saw her sharp eyes flick, watched her dark lips silently count. _One, two, three_ …six men in total. Satisfied, she leaned back down again. He’d seen that look in the courtroom enough times to know she had a plan. Time would only tell if she could shoot as well as she could talk.

“When I give the signal,” she muttered, “Start your cover fire. How many bullets are left in that dinky little pistol?”

“About- doll, it’s not _dinky_ ,” his lip curled in offense, “Perfectly capable.”

“Sure, capable to cut paper, maybe,” Candy shot back. “Do a lot of arts and crafts in your downtime, Valentine?”

“Har-har, lawyer and a comedian,” he grumbled. “I’ve got enough ammo. What are you planning to do, anyhow?”

Candy chewed on her lip, and then shot him a look, a little shuffle of her expression that read _don’t judge_. Well, too late for that. He did his best to remain neutral as she let down her hair, the thick curls wild around her shoulders, and then slightly unzipped the vest below her duster – when his brows reached the upper atmosphere she lightly smacked his arm.

“Don’t overheat, old man,” she whispered, “It’s just a little costume design.”

“Sure, sure,” he said, “Doll, if you’re doing what I think you’re doing…”

“Then you’ll get out of here in no time.” Candy winked and he felt his chest start to whir. Before he could protest, she was standing tall, sauntering around the counter with a swing in her hips that was nearly violent. He could only watch as she stood, waiting for the Triggermen to notice her, and when they did and raised their guns, she just put up her hands like she could have ever in her life claimed innocence.

“Boys, boys,” Candy purred, and he noticed her voice was just a bit higher than normal, “That’s no way to treat a lady.”

“Sure, not one that comes at us from the front,” one of the goons sneered, “You ain’t s’posed to be here, who are you?”

“Word doesn’t get around very fast for you fellas, does it?” Candy tutted her tongue. “Skinny Malone sent for me. Said you boys deserved a little … stress relief.” That was a practiced glimmer of sin in her eyes. Nick slapped his face and dragged his hand down his jaw. Could she have picked a more obvious con?

“Oh…did he now?” one goon murmured, and Nick didn’t have to see him to know what expression he probably wore. He then heard one of his buddies smack him.

“Think with the northern parts of your body for once, dumbass,” he said, “Malone didn’t tell us about no stress relief!”

Candy pouted. She stepped a little closer, fluttered her lashes. “You can go check with him if you wanna. I’ll stay right here, but…” she bit her lip, “I might get a little bit…lonely.”

“Well, wouldn’t want that, would we?” the goon replied. Mr. Smooth, he suddenly thought he was. If Nick had to listen to any more of this bad red-light parody, he was shutting off his audio processors.

“You stay with her, then,” the other one replied. “I’m gonna go check with Malone.”

He turned his back to walk off. Candy flashed her devil’s eyes at her prey, and beamed, that same sharp smile from New Year’s Day. “You do that. I think I’ll have some fun, right…NOW!”

That was a signal as far as he knew. Nick jumped up and fired one round into the back of the leaving Triggerman, while the other two fumbled for their weapons. Candy didn’t give the nearest one that luxury, instead driving her elbow into his throat and her knee into his gut. He collapsed on the floor. She turned to shoot the other one, but Nick got to him first, placing a caliber of lead right between his eyes.

Candy was panting when they were finished. Nick couldn’t resist a smirk. “That’s one way to get the coolant pumping.”

She snorted, tied up her hair and zipped up her vest, and shook her head. “Your jokes are just as bad as they used to be.”

“So is your taste, apparently, because I’ve been told I’m rather wry.”

“By whom? The ladies at the bridge club?” Candy said. She was crouched over one of the bodies, hands sliding through his pockets efficiently and without wasting a second. He saw her salvage a few things – caps, mostly, some cigarettes, a locket and a watch. After she stuffed them in her pockets, she stood back up. “The other one was heading down that hallway, so I’m guessing that’s where Skinny Malone is. How do you wanna play this?”

“Was about to ask you the same question.” Nick tilted his head. “Skinny kept me around for old time’s sake, so I don’t think he’s quite liable to shoot without some questions. That gives us some wiggle room.”

She thought about this. Candy pursed her lips. “Enough to wiggle out without wasting ammo?”

“Maybe. If we play the cards right.” He was already heading towards the hall. “You’re good with lowlifes, doll. How about you take the reins?”

If Candy was annoyed by his comment, she didn’t show it, and instead walked beside him like she hadn’t just killed two men. “And steal the spotlight from you, Nicky? Why, I could never.”

“The spotlight’s the only thing you ever got _caught_ stealing, Cancio. Far be it from me to stop you now.” They arrived at the vault door, and mechanical as it was, Nick’s gut was telling him his captor was behind it. “About Skinny – the name’s, uh, _ironic_ , but don’t let it get to you.”

“Irony and a criminal empire? Be still my beating heart.” Her fingers fluttered over her chest. “Fine, I’ll talk. He single?”

“Christ, doll,” Nick grimaced, “I know you’ve got some low standards, but-“

“I’m not gonna bang him, Valentine,” she hissed, “But if he is, maybe I can persuade him in certain ways that taken men just don’t respond to.”

 _Right,_ he thought, _The men back in the room_. He was getting too wrapped up in past and present. “Point taken. He’s also taken, unfortunately – for both him and us. His little girlfriend is the reason we’re in this mess. Whacked me upside the head with a baseball bat; so, uh, be prepared for a catfight.”

“Always am.” Candy cocked her gun. “You ready?”

“After you.”

She pushed open the door, and sure enough, Skinny was there, along with Darla, pretty as a picture in her sequin number – if one didn’t count the bloody bat in her fingers. He flinched involuntarily.

Skinny Malone pivoted, and his thick face morphed into an image of shock, and then his mean lips curled while he growled. “Nicky? What are you doin’? You come into my house, shoot up my guys…”

“On the day of my daughter’s wedding…” he heard Candy mutter under her breath. She chose now to be funny?

“You have any idea how much this is gonna set me back?” Malone crossed his arms.

Nick forced every inch of diplomacy he could into his voice, but the Institute didn’t make him bullshit-proof, it seemed. “I wouldn’t be here at all if it weren’t for your two-timing dame, Skinny. You ought to tell her to write home more often.”

Darla sneered. “Aww…poor little Valentine. Ashamed you got beat up by a girl? I’ll just run home to Daddy, shall I?”

He saw Candy’s eye twitch. As funny as it was to see her temper, Nick really wished it came at a better time. Still, if there was ever a moment for those legendary courtroom maneuvers, it was now, ass deep in Vault 114 with somebody about to get a lot of bullet holes. He just hoped it wasn’t them.

Candy’s fingers tapped along her arm. That narrow of her eyes – she was thinking again. Her chin tilted haughtily when she looked over at Darla, and while she wasn’t smiling anymore, there was still something satisfied about her posture. Girl knew what she was doing.

“ _Darla_ ,” she said, “Look at yourself. Look at Malone. You could be doing way better than this.”

Darla blinked. “And what’s that from you, hm? I think I’m doing just dandy.”

“Really? Some two-bit gangster’s girl, swinging a bat around to make yourself feel powerful?” Something heavy was in her tone. Nick found himself listening rather than biding the time. “And what’ll you do when this is over, hm? You think he’s just gonna keep you around forever? What have you given him that’s worth that?”

“I…I…”

“Set your sights higher, doll.” Candy smirked. “C’mon, Skinny Malone? You’re a pretty dame. You could be with Marowski. With Sinjin. Hell, you could probably even try for starting a gang of your own.” As realization gleamed in Darla’s eyes, Candy went for the kill. “What are you doing wasting your time with _him_?”

Nick wanted to groan. Of _course_ she’d take that route.

“You’re…you’re…you’re right!” Darla suddenly dropped her bat. “What am I doing here? Skinny, sorry baby, but we’re off.” And with dramatics appropriate for the silver screen, Darla was off, jogging back down the vault. Skinny Malone watched her with wide, sad eyes, mouth open in disbelief. Was almost heartbreaking, if Nick didn’t hate his guts.

“Aw, c’mon, Nicky!” he whined, turning back. “You cost me my men, now you cost me my girl?”

“Give a girl some credit here,” Candy pouted, “You think Nick could be that charismatic?”

“Not the time, doll,” Nick muttered. He sighed and turned back. “Now that she’s not around to feed that temper of yours, have some sense and let us walk?”

Malone bared his teeth. “You overconfident ass…ugh! Fine! You got ten seconds!”

Candy was the first to holler in success. She was sprinting out of the vault like a jungle cat, long legs propelling her off the walkway like gravity was just a suggestion. Nick kept up fairly well, but felt his circuits whine while he tried to match her speed.

They reached the subway station in record time. Nick didn’t want to wait to find out if “ten seconds” included there as well, so he motioned upwards. “Let’s get above ground before we relax.”

“Just try not to fry a wire,” Candy called. She ran up the stairs. Nick busied himself with thoughts of taping that pretty mouth up for good.

* * *

 

Above ground and smelling that fresh (not really) Commonwealth air, Nick could finally let himself relax, shoulders drooping from a considerable tense just moments earlier. Candy tried to hide it, but he saw her breathe in relief as well, one delicate hand pressed against her throat. They allowed each other their own moments of rest. Just a quiet assurance that, at least today, Piper wasn’t writing their obituaries.

“Well, that was fun,” Candy said, breaking the silence. “You really should give that secretary of yours a raise, y’know. She told me where to find you.”

“Noted,” Nick said genuinely. He’d been planning on it for a while, anyhow. Candy nodded at him, but the second he saw her feet start in another direction, his hand shot out, snatching her wrist firmly. He wasn’t bruising, but he also left no room for doubt between his fingers and her skin. Candy glared back.

“I told you,” he started, “That I had some questions.”

“Can you ask them without your hand on my wrist?”

“Can you listen without running away?”

“…I wasn’t going to,” she said petulantly, “I was just going to head back to Diamond City. We’re too open out here, it’s unsafe.”

“Maybe your nerves will scare a little honesty into ya, then,” Nick replied, unperturbed. He slowly released her, and when Candy didn’t sprint off, he brought out his lighter again. This was a half-pack kind of day, it seemed. Maybe for dramatic’s sake, or just because he was tired, he didn’t bother talking until the stick was lit, and he’d taken one good drag. This time, he _could_ see Candy’s expression as the smoke filtered out his neck and jaw, and it wasn’t one of disgust, like he’d expect. Just interest, not as well masked as he guessed she’d have liked, her eyes locked on the moving parts inside his neck. If a bot could blush…

“Question one.” Nick gestured to her with the cigarette. “How the hell are you on the upside of six feet under?”

“Right to it, then…” she huffed. “It’s a long story.”

“I’m the robot, here. I don’t have boredom protocols.”

“What I said about bad jokes,” he heard her whisper, “Fine. I’m a figment of your imagination, and you broke yourself out of that vault all on your own, albeit muttering wildly the entire time. The boys loved the drag show, though.”

“And I’m the one with lame jokes?” Nick shot back. “You’re wastin’ your own time here, dame.”

“I’ve had more time than I know what to do with,” Candy said. His expectant eyebrow made her continue. “Okay, alright. Vault-Tec screwed us. Nate conned us a space in one of the “premium” vaults, so we thought we were golden…” the low light would have made it hard for anyone else to see the look in Candy’s eyes, but Nick gave some bittersweet thanks to the Institute for his night vision. He didn’t miss the tremor in her lips or the way she averted her gaze to the wall. “We were told to get in these pods. For decontamination. And then, after that, they froze us.”

Candy rubbed one of her arms, but Nick didn’t miss the way her nails cut into her skin. “I’m gonna leave the story there. You get the rest.”

“Yeah, I sure do…” he muttered. Vault-Tec were some crooked S.O.B.’s, that’s for sure, but this was a new low even for them. How foreign a feeling it was, guilt in his heart for Candy Cancio, the terror of the Boston judicial system. She didn’t seem like the family lawyer of the entire criminal underground at this moment – she just seemed like a sad woman who’d lost a lot. He could almost forget what she’d done.

Almost.

Because he was a machine, not a monster, Nick stamped out his cigarette and stepped closer. She didn’t step back. Candy did tense, however, watching him for any sudden movements. _Panther_ , he thought to himself. “It’s only fair if you get your questions too, doll. But those can wait till Diamond City, yeah?”

“Always the gentleman, even now.” Candy huffed. “Let’s head back. By the way, I made Ellie promise that you’re doing my case pro bono.”

“Of course you did.” Nick rolled his eyes. “Kid probably didn’t know how to say no.”

“Oh, she did. She’s a feisty one – I’m just feistier.”

“That you are, Cancio. That you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter down! I love a lot of sole survivors and everyone's interesting takes on their relationship with Nick, but I always wanted to write one that had a bit of a rougher past with him - and I think the game really could have done more incorporating the canon survivor's past with Nick's as well, seeing as they're both (technically) pre war.
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts!


	3. Rich Men with Things to Hide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick's come back safe and sound, but as they start on Candy's case, he learns a little more about what his little courtroom terror has gone through since the bombs dropped.

Ellie was a mess of tears, sniffles and warbled threats when Nick returned, and it was a good ten minutes of her hugging and threatening him if he “ever did that again, so help me Nick I’m giving you back to Skinny myself” before he could even get a word in. Candy watched wordlessly from the door, propped against the wall while the tearfest unfolded. She studied the cinderblock to give them some semblance of privacy.

“Kid, honestly, I’m fine,” Nick muttered, gently patting Ellie’s back while she cried into his shoulder, “I would’ve gotten out eventually.”

“No, you wouldn’t have, and that’s the problem, Nick!” she suddenly shot back with enough ferocity to make Candy jump, “You’re always doing this – going off alone, getting into trouble because you overestimate yourself!”

“Damn, flattery really ain’t your strong suit,” he said. Ellie just huffed.

“This was too close, Nick. You could have died if it weren’t for her.”

“You’re welcome,” Candy called. Nick curled his lip in distaste. She just rolled her eyes. Ungrateful, much?

“Can we talk about this later, both of you?” The detective shuffled around until he was planted in his seat with a kind of familiarity Candy guessed was long in the making. Even Ellie seemed to respect that, that unsaid switch that turned from weepy reunions to a case – cold, hard and simple. She stepped back to allow Nick to work. Candy stepped forward and sat in the chair across from him. One long leg crossed over the other, she tapped her fingers on her knee, and waited for the show to start.

Nick was the first to speak. “Well,” he started, folding his hands. Her eyes locked on the skeletal one, the way the singular lightbulb glinted off the framing. “About this case-“

“No. We’re not talking about that yet.” Candy tilted her head. “I still have my questions about _you_.”

“Far be it from me to disappoint,” Nick said. “Shoot.”

“Maybe the cryogenics messed with my memories, but I don’t remember your more metallic personage.” The way his eyes flicked over her, watching for the tells of her shock – but he wasn’t going to get it. Candy had time in their walk to compose herself. However, it didn’t mean she didn’t feel a little more than unsettled, with the way his amber irises _locked_ on her. She could read most men’s gazes like holiday brochures – simple, to the point and trying to tempt you into something you were better off without – but the sudden openness of those eyes, looking everywhere and yet without the human tells she was used to, made them impossible to read.

“Tell me,” she continued, “You know what happened to me, Valentine. What about you?”

“Long story, doll.”

“I thought you didn’t have boredom protocols?”

Nick chuckled, just a bit, tilting his head into the gesture. It was a motion so like the old Nick that she felt a pang in her gut. “Smart mouthed, smart dressed. Suppose I should be used to that by now. Fine, have it your way.” He leaned back in his chair. “You know what a synth is, Cancio?”

“Heard of them,” Candy said. “Not good things, I’m afraid.”

“Can’t blame your ears for workin’,” he shrugged, “No, we haven’t got a, hm, _sparkling_ reputation around these parts. Synth. Synthetic man. Woman, too, but those came past my warranty date. All the parts, really, minus a few red blood cells,” His cigarette was stamped into an ashtray, but Candy was sure he’d light another soon enough. “The Commonwealth’s got a new bogeyman now – try not to feel too jealous of the role.”

“I’m simmering as we speak.” Her eyes narrowed across the table, and she saw him mirror the gesture. “I know you, Nick. Stop stalling.”

“Don’t blame a bot for trying. Ain’t an easy topic.” He sighed. She wondered if he even had to breathe anymore. “If you’ve heard of synths, I suppose you’ve heard of the Institute, too. Well, they also made me. I’m what you’d call a Gen-2, halfway between those walking science-classroom skeletons and the folks who look just like you and me – well, I suppose just you.” He had his head tilted low in what most people might have read as shame, or perhaps fear, but Candy knew he was still watching her from under the brim of his hat. “No, I’m not the Nick Valentine you knew before the war, not physically, anyway. His memories, personality, the lot of it – they were scanned, put into this bucket of bolts as an experiment. Part of the research that went into the more lifelike models today, I suppose.”

Her chest tightened. He might have said he wasn’t the “old” Nick, and in a strictly corporeal sense that was true – that Nick didn’t have the ember-bright eyes and noticeable mechanical _whir_ audible in the tiny room. Maybe it was that quiet yearning for the before, or the fear of the after, but to Candy, it was still _him_.

“I see,” she said simply, “As far as I’m concerned, what I see across from me is a man in a tiny office who’s too focused on doing the right thing even when it gets him in trouble.” Her smile stretched across her face, dimpling the corners. “That’s Nick enough for me.”

He paused. Candy ventured a guess that he didn’t expect that. The glow of his eyes brightened somewhat, and even as they dimmed, she saw his mouth twitch. He cleared his throat, even though he didn’t have to, and Candy knew he felt flattered.

“Thanks,” he said, “I think that was a compliment, anyway.”

“Sure, go ahead.” Her smirk quickly undid whatever affection was growing between them. Good. Didn’t need him getting chummy. “Now that that’s out of the way, let’s get to something more important – me.”

He groaned. “And there’s the Cancio I know.”

“C’mon, Valentine, at least I’m more interesting than your run-of-the-mill Triggerman. Prettier, too.”

“I dunno, get Malone in a red number and some heels, can’t tell the difference.”

“He doesn’t have the hips for my numbers.”

“Your “numbers” are the only reason my boys let you get away with anything.”

Ellie grimaced. “Could you two perhaps stop flirting for five seconds? We do have a case.”

“We’re not flirting!” Nick and Candy said. They froze, looked at each other, and both went back to inspecting their fingers. Candy was the first to speak again.

“I suppose I’ll get to it, then. I have a missing person’s case.” Nick was already writing something down on a clipboard. “My son.” His hand stopped.

“Candy…” he started, only for her to hold up her hand.

“Don’t. I came here for a detective, not a therapist.” He wasn’t convinced, if the way he worked his mouth was any clue. “I woke up twice in the chambers. The first time was when they took Shaun.”

Nick worked his response around in his mouth like a mint. When he spoke, it was careful, practiced. “Did Nate…”

“They killed him.” She gulped. “To get to Shaun.”

“I see. I’m-“

“What did I say, Nick?” Candy said, voice tight, “I’ve heard enough “I’m sorry’s” for a lifetime.” God, she knew he wasn’t going to believe her. “That isn’t important. What is important is that I saw who took him. A bald man, with a scar across his face.”

“Nick,” Ellie started, “Doesn’t that sound like…”

“It does, kid, but…” Nick tapped the skeletal hand thoughtfully along his desk, “I don’t know. It might just be coincidence.”

Candy’s sudden snort of laughter made them both jump. She rolled her eyes, waving her hand. “Valentine, any good lawyer will tell you that coincidence is a drug. I would advice you don’t grow addicted.”

He paused, then nodded. “Good point. In that case, Ellie, grab me the file on Kellogg?”

She went in the back and came back with a small folder. Nick muttered a “thanks”, took it, and tossed it to Candy’s waiting fingers. As she poked through, he rested his metallic chin on the back of his fingers.

“So he’s a known figure?” Candy asked. “And he was here with a kid, too, but that kid’s too old to be Shaun. Looks like- wait, he lived in Diamond City?”

“Past-tense is key. He jumped ship a while ago, but his house is just on the outskirts.” Nick jerked his head in said direction. “Been a shady character for a while now. You might be the only one who knows why, now.”

“Mm, lucky me,” she rolled her eyes. “Great. We get a name, a face, and we’re somehow just where we started. That’s my favorite magic trick.”

“Hey, beats a hat-rabbit any day,” Nick said. “Alright. Well, for starters, I suppose we can pay Adobe de Kellogg a visit, yeah?”

“Maybe, if you get your Spanish right,” Candy’s eye flicked to Ellie, who looked like she wanted to snicker. She smirked. Nick just grumbled.

“Give me language lessons after the case is over, doll.” He adjusted his hat as he stood. “Well? Coming?”

Candy was standing as well, one hand on her hip and the other curled while she inspected her nails. “Naturally, detective.” She pivoted to reach for the door, only to stop when Nick’s hand beat her too it. His skeletal digits waved as he eased it open.

“Ladies first.”

“Don’t be such a gentleman all the time,” Candy said lowly, sauntering through. “You’ll make me feel guilty.”

“The only guilty I ever wanted on you was in court, doll,” maybe it was her, but that amber glow was brighter, “So consider this a close second.”

* * *

 

MAY 10, 2070

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” Nick muttered, eyes locked on Vinnie’s proud, retreating figure out of the courthouse. “We had evidence. We had _pounds_ of evidence.”

“It’s called the “scales of justice” for a reason, Nicky,” Chief said through a cigarette, “All you need is one ounce more to tip them.”

Nick’s hand went up to stroke his jaw. He felt his insides clench into themselves, angry and disgusted, at Vannucci’s meaty shoulders being crammed into a too-small sedan. “My question is _where_ that ounce came from. What else could she have pulled out that magic hat of hers?”

“My magic works because I don’t reveal my secrets, boys,” Candy’s voice said behind him, making them both whirl, pivoting on their heels. She was waiting, arms folded across her smart, tailored suit – a simple black, pinstripe number with a pencil skirt that fit just tight enough to leave the _important_ parts to the imagination. Her dark cheeks were painted with fashionable, subtle rouge, but Nick had a feeling a woman like that never blushed for real. Candy tilted her head, letting her mass of dark curls pour over her shoulder. “Come now. Don’t blame a gal for doing her job.”

“Your _job_ ,” Nick all but growled, “Just let a big-time mafia boss go free, when he could’ve been behind bars. Safe.”

“Hah! Safe!” Candy’s sudden peal of laughter was bright enough and open enough to almost make them forget what they were talking about, “That what you badges think is safe? Oh, you’re sure lucky you’re cute, honey.”

“Now listen, doll,” Chief started before Nick could bare his teeth any further, “Ain’t you supposed to be with your client right now?”

“He’s not my client anymore.” Candy shrugged. “I did my job, he got out, and now he doesn’t need me. This is the face of unemployment.” Her smirk stretched. “For, I’d say, around the next few hours. I’m a desirable woman.”

“And why are you telling us this, hm?” Nick said. He watched as she chuckled, her slender fingers drawing a cigarette from her purse. His eyes locked on the way it perched between her glossed lips. Somehow, none of that makeup transferred to the cancer stick. “You’re too smart to brag.”

“Oh, there’s a brain behind that fedora,” she cooed. Candy took in a drag and then blew, lips a perfect “o” around the smoke. “You’re right. Consider this a…oh, how do you call it? Ah, yes – a warning.” She rose one trimmed brow. “Like I said, boys, I’m desirable. Vinnie got what he wanted, and lots of his friends are going to want the same. It’s not going to be long before you see me here again.”

Nick’s lips tightened. “So, what is this, doll? You’re giving us a heads-up?”

“Naturally. I’m not interested in rigging the game.” Candy took another puff of her cigarette. “We’re going to be seeing a lot of each other, Valentine. I respect your work. And though I know you’ll never admit it, you respect mine as well. All I’m saying? Keep that respect in mind.” For a second he thought he saw her Cheshire smile fade, but it could have been a trick of the light. “And remember that I only bite as hard as I’m bitten.”

He figured the only reason he didn’t want to throttle her for that comment was because she was a woman. Nick clung to that reason like her fingers to that cigarette – loosely, languidly, and without certainty that he wouldn’t just draw another. His jaw clenched.

Candy’s dark eyes gleamed. “I see I’ve made my point, then. Until next time, gentlemen.” Nick’s hand shot out before she could even step away. His vice grip around her forearm made her wince, only to cover it up just as quickly, eyes locked on him through thick lashes.

“Sharks like you do love blood in their waters, don’t you?” he hissed. “You aren’t going to keep gettin’ away with this. We’ll stop you.”

“Is that a promise or a wish, detective?” Candy whispered. He glared.

“Neither, Cancio. It’s a threat.”

* * *

 

“Why am I not surprised you know how to pick locks?” Nick said under his breath, watching Candy work the bobby pin around. Her deft fingers were quick and efficient, and soon enough, that satisfying “click” made both of their shoulders untense. Candy turned to smirk at him over her shoulder.

“I know how to do a lot of things, detective.”

“All those things and you still need my help. I’m flattered.” He held back a grin at the sudden annoyance in the furrow of her brow. Candy huffed, turned back, and eased the door open. It squeaked and gave. As Candy strolled into the living room Nick was close to follow, only shutting the door behind them afterwards.

The living room was painfully normal. By Diamond City standards, even tasteful, almost. Small, not luxurious, though he didn’t reason that someone like Kellogg really used it as much as they thought. Judging by the narrow of Candy’s eyes, she probably thought the same, dark irises flicking here and there for a clue, a tell, _anything_. Nick saw her pat her pockets. He already had his lighter ready when she pulled out another cigarette.

Candy paused. She looked at the lighter like it offended her. Nick just moved it closer. “Take it, doll,” he said quietly, “This house is too small for ego.”

“Hm, wise guy,” she grumbled, but accepted it anyway, poising the stick between her teeth. Candy leaned down slowly, letting the fire gingerly light on the edge, while Nick’s hand was steady the whole time. When the spark caught, she leaned back up, and the similarity of the firelight in her eyes to his own Institute glow was striking. This must have been how people felt, having him look back. He doubted he was as pretty a sight as her, though.

Nick jerked with the thought and the moment lost its’ novelty. Of course the dame was pretty – that was half her weapon. He wasn’t about to let it _work_.

If Candy noticed his sudden realization, she didn’t mention it. “Doesn’t look like there’s much to go on. I’m going to look upstairs – you stay around here.”

“Gotcha,” he said, already inspecting the furniture. His mind worked quickly, much quicker than human-Nick would have been capable of. The old detective was quick, quicker than most of his coworkers, but nothing beat having a literal calculator for a hippocampus. Every detail of the room was categorized within a three second timespan. Beer bottles, a lot of them, a few mags, but no chems. That was interesting. A hardened mercenary, but not one that would risk his mind or body to something else.

“Nick, catch!” Candy called from the upper platform. His outstretched hand was met with a cigar, thick and expensive.

“San Francisco Sunlights?” he muttered. “Well. Man had taste.”

“Taste and a drinking problem. There’s Gwinnet Stout everywhere.”

“Looks like we’ve got some breadcrumbs to follow, then.” He listened as her boots descended the stairs. Candy was back at his side again, but not looking any more satisfied, her teeth working over her bottom lip.

“You think there’s something else?”

“It doesn’t feel right. It just doesn’t.” Candy strolled around the room, and that strolling turned into pacing, and that pacing turned into very stressful standing, shoulders tensed and ready for action. “He lived here for- for a _reason_ , Nick. This is a city with people.”

“Aptly said.”

“Oh, shut it,” she snapped, “I mean, where there’s people, there’s eyes. There had to be some reason he’d risk being seen to stay here, if he’s as careful as you say.”

“Well, there’s the security,” Nick offered, “Man’s strong, but nothin’s gonna beat round walls and a task force.”

“No,” she shook her head, “Any old settlement could give him that if he paid enough, and he isn’t wanting for caps. It’s something here, something _in_ here.” Though he’d never say it out loud, it was _fascinating_ to watch her brain (and only her brain, he reminded himself as he recalled that cigarette) as she talked it out. Candy’s fingers curled, indecisive, then slowly spread, reaching their tips to the cinderblock walls. Then, she suddenly stepped back, pursed her lips, and jerked her head to the desk in the center of the room. Candy sauntered over, nearly dramatic with the show of it. She was eyeing something underneath that he couldn't see. “Here’s something that’ll piss you off. Remember when I worked for Tommy Lebowski?”

“What, that chump?” he snorted, “How can I forget, doll? Your magic made sure we never got within an inch of him. Even though we _knew_ he’d stolen the paintings.”

“Exactly.” She chuckled at the memory. “And I had you away from his _house_ , but not him, specifically. Because Tommy definitely stole those paintings. And if there’s one thing I know about a rich man with a lot to hide…” She stepped a bit closer, slid her fingers underneath the desk, slowly until-

A _click_ and mechanic _hiss_ as the wall sank in made his brows rise. Candy turned, not even watching the hidden room reveal itself, instead choosing to grin like the wildcat he knew. All Nick could manage was a small cough.

“Points for creativity, I suppose,” his surprise was barely masked, and he found himself thanking his manual control over his voice modulator. Technology wasn’t enough to fool Candy, though, because she just laughed again and shook her head.

“I’ll win you over one day, Valentine,” she said. “Now, what have we here?”

The inside of the room looked about as nefarious as possible. One lone chair, propped beside a side table with ample more cigarettes and beer. Behind it, multiple armories’ worth of weapons were stored on racks, a virtual candy shop of death. Nick snorted a bit at the thought of “candy shop”.

Candy rose a brow. “Something funny about hidden rooms?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” he answered cryptically. Nick strode forward and drug his fingers around the ashtray. “Embers have died. He hasn’t been here for a while, then.”

“It looks like he was hiding more than just weapons, too.” Candy nodded at the walls. “Notice the lack of cinderblock?”

“So he’s got some design suggestions. What about it?”

“Look at my Pip-Boy.” She extended her wrist to him. Nick narrowed his eyes as she tuned it to the “radio” tab, where a neat little button of “Diamond City Radio” was selected. However, once she pressed it…nothing happened. It just played static from the speakers. Travis’ mumblings weren’t even noticeable.

“Blocks signals, so he can’t be traced…” Nick murmured. “Ain’t that somethin’. Wonder what was so important that he couldn’t be heard – or that he thought there was someone listenin’ at all.”

Candy’s slender shoulders shrugged while she retreated the Pip-Boy back, then toyed with a curl framing her face. “I’m not sure. But my gut is telling me we’re not finding anything else here, so we’ll have to take our breadcrumb trail elsewhere.”

“Hm.” Nick frowned at their surroundings, and then at the San Francisco Sunlights cigar in his fingers. “I think I can do you one better than breadcrumbs, doll. How’s about a scent?”

Candy blinked, looked at the cigar, then him. “That’s…not half bad, Valentine.”

“I do try.”

“Don’t get cocky.” Candy took it from him and inspected it. “I’ve got a dog back at one of my settlements – he’s good with his nose. Not sure how useful, but hell, it’s worth a try.”

“Yeah, let’s- wait, settlements? Plural?” An easy, but confused smirk slid up his jaw while he tilted his head. “What, you some kinda manager now, Cancio?”

“Try “general”, actually, she said proudly. Candy put her hands on her hips. “Commonwealth Minutemen, at your service. Well, not yours, specifically, because I have standards. But you get my point.” After her wink, Nick wasn’t sure his jaw could get any lower.

“Hold on now-“ he started, one finger up, “That stuff Travis has been yammerin’ about, the Minutemen comeback, that’s- that’s been _you_? All this time?”

“Now, Nicky, is that _admiration_ I see?” Candy walked her fingers up along his shoulder, and then to his jaw, and he would never admit to the _zap_ in his spinal cord when her fingertips danced along the broken edges of his skin. “Careful, might make a gal think you _like_ her.”

“Hardly, I’m just surprised you’re leading anything other than card sharks.” And with that she jerked her hand back. Candy’s jaw twitched and though she quickly was smiling afterward, Nick didn’t miss the way her fists curled, then uncurled, or the way her shoulders seemed suddenly less loose than before at his comment. One brow rose. He chose to say nothing.

“Well, you and me both,” she said under her breath. Candy looked up before he could reply. “My dog is at my main settlement, Sanctuary. We should head there first. Or, well…” The notion of “unsure” didn’t often cross Candy Cancio’s face, but when it did, Nick was suddenly grateful for his literal photographic memory. She chewed on her lip, averting her gaze everywhere but him, and sighed. “We could always meet there, I suppose, if you don’t want to-“

“Now, doll,” he started, tone chiding, “Don’t tell me you’re _nervous_ about traveling with an old bot?”

“What? Of course not!” she protested, but Nick saw she still wasn’t looking at him, “Don’t flatter yourself, detective. I’m just saying that two of us on a trip might end up with a high body count.”

“That so? And here I thought we called you the Boulder of Boston for a reason.” In mock disappointment, Nick shook his head, sparing her from his amber eyes and instead looking to the ceiling, like he was genuinely interested in rusted tin. “Candy Cancio, scared to trust herself with Nick Valentine. Boy, wouldn’t the papers have had a time with that?” He paused for thought. “Actually, Piper probably would _love_ it. I think I’ll pay the gal a visit.”

“Okay, okay, fine!” she suddenly erupted. Nick barely let his grin creep through, instead choosing to look back at her, as smug as can be. “We’ll go together. And, for the record, I am not _scared_ of anything to do with _you_. You’re just…ugh…” Frustrated was a good look on her, he mused. “You’re too…”

“Ruggedly handsome? I know, doll, but don’t let it get to you. I’m a man, not a piece of meat.” He pursed his lips. “Or metal.”

“Ha-ha, regular Lenny Bruce, ain’t ya,” she sneered, “I was going to say you’re too…ugh. Nevermind.”

“C’mon, Candy, I’m on the edge of my seat here,” he teased. He caught every frame of her jump when he used her real name, and filed that reaction away for later use. _For research_ , he told himself. “I’m too _what_?”

“You know, you were _not_ this much of an ass before the war.” She scowled. He smirked.

“I was also not this full of bolts, either. Things change.”

“Yeah, well, I _haven’t_ , and I’m not giving in to you because you think your “Chicago Charm” still works. That was one time.” She was halfway to the door before he called out again.

“Hold on, what time did it work?” he said, but all he got was a scoff and a door slammed in his face. Nick couldn’t help but chuckle.

Some things never changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter down! In case you're in the mood for some Hancock lovin', I have another fic on my profile, "I Might Love You, Charity Jones". It's a little longer than this one, so far! But anyways, hope you liked it!


	4. Shapes from the Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick and Candy have some issues to work out about their pasts, and how that affects their future. Nick learns just a little bit more about Candy Cancio, the Minuteman General, and realizes he knew less about Candy Cancio, the lawyer, than he thought.

FEBRUARY 2, 2071

Nick had only met Isaac Nathaniel Jenkins once, and that was enough for him.

“If Nate Jenkins gets life today,” Nick growled under his breath, “Then it’ll be one day too short a sentence.”

Chief snorted, tapping out the ashes of his cigar and perching it back between his lips. It hung out the corner of his mouth, just as rugged and ornery as the rest of his mug, vapors of Cuba’s finest polluting the smoking room sweetly. They were the only two fellas in there – which, for Boston, should have struck Nick as stranger than it did.

“Not that I don’t agree with ya, Nicky,” he said, “But it’s too soon to know anything. If your gut controlled the law, we’d have locked every loan shark and petty thief behind iron.”

Nick felt the beginning of an argument rise in his chest, but one look at Chief’s knowing stare quieted it back down, until he was slouching into the plaid, barely acceptable cushioning of the waiting room chair. Like it might change, he spared another glance at him. Chief was still staring. Nick just huffed and looked away.

“I’m grateful for one thing, I suppose,” he said lowly, “Notice a certain pretty face is missing?”

Chief blinked, had a moment of realization, then grunted. “Hm. You’re right – that’s odd. I’m almost surprised when she isn’t here, now.”

“Hey, gift horses, mouths, you get it,” Nick threw his hands up. His head turned to the dusted window of the station. Then, his expression fell, brows furrowing over widened eyes. Chief took notice of the sudden silence and stretched his neck to see the cause.

“Well, I’ll be…”

“That’s not…”

“We ain’t got a gift horse,” Chief said through his cigar, watching Candy Cancio step out from her Royce, “Unless you count the Trojan variety.”

Candy turned on her heel and Nick saw her yank out a compact mirror, inspect her lipstick as if there had ever been a flaw to begin with, snap it shut and turn suddenly, like she’d heard a noise. And then out came Nate, sauntering coolly in his pinstripe number, hat tilted fashionably to the side. He spread his arms and Candy all but _squealed_ , running into him like a magnet. They latched onto each other. Nick pretending the sting in his gut was from the nicotine.

He fixed his jaw. Candy had her face buried in Nate’s neck, eyes shut, shoulders relaxed – he’d seen that look. He’d felt it. Whatever crooked way it was, it was _love_ , regardless, between two of the most annoyingly dangerous people in Boston. She was holding onto him the way someone held onto hope itself, her thin fingers burying into his jacket, and judging by the way Nate slid his hands around her slender waist, the feeling was nothing if not requited. Nick should look away, he told himself. Even criminals deserved a little privacy.

And he kept staring.

“Explains why we didn’t see her,” Chief said behind him, “Probably just got back from the courthouse. Something’s telling me this is the closest we’ll ever get to him.”

“Not if I’ve got anything to say about it,” Nick said under his breath. He felt Chief’s brows raise without even turning.

“Nicky,” he started, “We’re talkin’ about Jenkins, you know.”

“…Of course,” he replied. From over Nate’s shoulder, Candy’s eyes flicked up, meeting his between glass and cardboard blinds. He thought he saw her smile. “Of course.”

* * *

 

“You really want this to be the last mug you see?” Nick shouted, just after dodging a shot of laser fire aimed at his cheek. Behind the overturned trailer, he crouched and peeked his head out only to be quickly dragged back by Candy’s strong hand.

“This isn’t whack-a-bot, so stop popping out!” she hissed. Nick waved her hand away. Candy, never to be deterred, rolled her eyes and shoved his head down again. Nick spluttered as he was forced into the ground, but another narrowly missed shot quieted his curses.

“Asshole!” one of the raiders shouted. Candy’s lip curled in distaste.

“Ain’t very fond of you either, pal,” she said. From in her pack she retrieved something round, bumped and-

“Hold on,” Nick said, “Is that a grenade?”

“No, it’s a key lime,” she scoffed, “Of course it’s a grenade, what else?”

“Oh, I dunno,” he grabbed his hat at another shot against the back of the trailer, “Maybe coulda used it sooner, doll? Y’know, _before_ our friends decided we looked better splattered against tin?”

“Sure, let me just toss a grenade into a raider camp, full of radioactive barrels! That’s going to go great, Nick!” He didn’t miss her extra sneer as she yanked the pin out with her teeth. Candy quickly tossed it over, crossed her forehead and shoulders, and plugged her ears as the ground shook. They waited. When there hadn’t been any more curses, threats or hisses, Nick deemed it safe to _finally_ poke his head out again. Luckily, he wasn’t greeted with any more gunfire.

Candy was up and fixing her hair. “Told you we’d have a high body count, traveling together,” she said. Nick just waved his hand.

“Ain’t my fault someone’s flashier than the Goodneighbor sign.”

“Nick, I could wear a paper bag and cardboard negligee, and I would still stand out.” Somehow, the doll found the cheek to wink at him. Her lashes fluttered. “Cancio charm.”

“That’s one word for it,” he muttered. Nick then dodged a tin can – barely. “Hey! What’s that for?”

“Part of the charm.” Candy straightened her duster and started towards the body of the closest Raider, currently sporting a lovely rendition of gunpowder’s finest. With only a small grimace, she drew her hands around the pockets, the nooks and crannies, the lot of it. She came back with a few pieces of scrap metal and some ammo, but nothing more. “Ugh. Figures they wouldn’t have anything.”

As she stood, Nick eyed the rest of the highway. “How close are we to Sanctuary, Cancio? Because I ain’t sure we’ll hold up if these jokers have an encore.”

Candy was searching another body as she spoke. “Oh, not that far. Should make it there in about an hour, if we don’t get stopped again.” Satisfied (or not, depending) with her search, Candy trotted back to his side. “Why, Nicky, tired of my company already?”

“Oh, never,” he snorted, “Love myself a good gunfire orchestra. Really gets the sensors jumping.”

Candy laughed at that. Her head leaned back, neck bare and stretched, and Nick only had a few seconds to pretend he wasn’t looking before she leaned back again and shook her head. “Oh, wise guy. They’ll love you.” She started walking down the road again. Nick caught up, straightening his permanently crumpled coat like it made a difference. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

“Your, uh, militia?”

“Hardly a militia,” she shook her head, curls bouncing, “Just a few regular joes with slightly more guns.”

“Oh, my favorite kind,” he retorted. Nick’s hands shuffled inside his pocket. His skeletal hand twitched for the memory of a cigarette, but his pack was empty. Regrettably. And like hell was he asking Candy for hers. “Tell me, then. How’s a gal like you wind up with these, ah, regular joes?”

“And what would a gal like me be, Valentine?” he didn’t miss the sudden caution of her tone, well disguised in jovial curiosity. Candy rose a brow. He shrugged.

“You want me to be honest?”

“Oh, I’d love for you to lie – I’ve needed a good laugh recently.” And there was that Devil’s smirk, dimples at the edges. “Honesty for now, however.”

“Darn, always fancied myself a comedian,” he said. “But alright. A gal like you – a gal that ain’t never been on the right side of the law even if it begged her. And, believe me, sometimes we did.” His glowing sight took in her expression; still guarded, still careful, but a little more unreadable than before. “As far as I’ve been told, these Minutemen are decent, honest folk. You don’t feel outta your element?”

“Harsh, Nicky,” Candy purred. She turned away from him, staring straight ahead as they walked. “You know, I’m hardly the agent of misery you want me to be.” The look he gave her made her roll her eyes. “Really! Why is it so unbelievable that I’d want to do something good?”

“You ain’t met yourself lately?” Nick said, “You defended the criminal elite of Boston for seven years. Why wouldn’t I be mistrustful?”

“Trust me, Valentine,” she said, and her tone was suddenly cold, “Not every one of your boys in blue were angels, either.” Quietly, she added, “And not every joker I helped in court was a demon.”

Nick scoffed. “Just because your Nate Jenkins was-“

Candy’s hand suddenly caught on his tie. She tugged him close, jaw set, eyes smoldering, but he could feel her fingers tremble. Not in fear, he realized. In anger. “You keep his name out your mouth, detective. Nate was a fine man. Finer than you.”

_Was_. Nick blinked. That’s right. Nate, who _was_. The sudden recollection of his death sank his chest in a pang of guilt, but as he realized his facial rigging didn’t allow for much of a tell, all Nick could do was sigh – mechanical as it was – and gently ease his hand over her own. The skeletal one. It closed lightly around her knuckles to ease her fingers off his tie. “Alright, doll, alright. Didn’t mean to speak ill of the…well, you know.”

“Yeah,” she hissed. Nick might have caught a wetness in her eyes before she suddenly turned away, releasing him. “I do know.”

* * *

 

Candy spotted the wiry gates of Sanctuary just as they crossed around the Minuteman statue. Her lips twitched, but the sound of Nick’s quiet, electronic whirring beside her forced them back into a frown again. Up ahead a guard spotted them, and with a wide grin, motioned to the others. “General’s back!” he called, “Open the gate!”

“Well, look at that,” Nick muttered beside her. He almost sounded impressed.

They walked forward and Candy put a hand on her hip as the gate creaked open. Her grin widened at the sight of Preston, standing with his arms crossed and musket hung across his back, and though his face was impassive, that small spark of glee in his eye told her the truth. They stood like that for a moment, staring at each other, before she walked forward and tugged him into a hug.

“Nice to see you, General,” he said, patting her on the back. Candy pulled back. She clapped her hand on his shoulder with a laugh.

“You too, Garvey. Oh, this is Nick, Nick Valentine.” She gestured behind her where Nick stood, apparently surprised at being included at all. “He’s a detective.”

Preston blinked, but her gaze told him not to comment. So, he just smiled amicably and stretched out his hand. “Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen.”

Nick stared. Then, slowly, as if it were something foreign, he outstretched his hand too, and shook it, grip firm against Preston’s gloves. Candy wasn’t watching Preston nearly as closely as Nick, who stared at the man with a special kind of caution she couldn’t remember before the bombs. Maybe it was just the Commonwealth way. Couldn’t ever know who to trust.

“Nice to meet you,” he said back, but his eyes flicked to Candy. She tilted her chin. Dared him to say anything else. Nick settled for an awkward shuffle of his gaze and smiled back at Preston. “Good, uh, job, with the place.”

“Hey, I appreciate that,” Preston chuckled, “It’s been hard, but we’ve managed. A lot better than it used to be.”

“You boys have fun,” Candy started as she began her walk, “But I have things to do. Preston, you have a report for me?”

“Just wrote one,” he called as she retreated, “Should be on your desk. You know. With the others.” Oh, she didn’t miss that tone of voice. “ _All_ the others.”

“Yes, Preston,” she groaned.

Home sweet home.

* * *

 

Nick watched Candy’s form as she walked away. He must have watched for a while, too, because Preston was clearing his throat and Nick jumped to attention.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, “You sayin’ something?”

“…Just that I’m curious how you know the General,” Preston chuckled. The look in his eye was knowing. “Because, uh, you _do_ seem to know her.”

Nick only had to see that smirk for half a second before he rolled his amber eyes near violently. “I see that look, joker. It’s not what you think.”

“Who said I was thinking anything?” The man sure had his practiced innocence down to an art, Nick mused, if the way he calmly turned and fiddled with his gloves was any tell. “But, well, it’s not my business. Nick, right?” Nick nodded. “You want a tour?”

“What, you’re just giving them out?” Nick smiled. “You’ve gotta have better things to do than show an old bot around.”

“Not…really, actually,” he said, slightly sheepishly, “Our settlements are pretty self-sufficient. A lot of my job is just holding down the home front. So, this is as much for my benefit as for yours.” Preston shrugged. “I get bored.”

“Well, if it’s for the sake of boredom,” Nick waved his hand, “Lead the way, lieutenant.”

Preston chuckled, turned, and started his walk down the street. It was a practiced kind of stroll, almost like a patrol, Nick realized. He wasn’t lying about his job. The settlement, too – well, he knew a pre-war town when he saw one. Picturesque little location. Lived up to the name. A place like this would have been Heaven for raiders, though – this bunch must have been more than “regular joes” to fend them off.

“Our defenses are our strongest point,” Preston said, suddenly reading his thoughts, “The General didn’t waste supplies with large walls or gates – other than the main one. We’ve got turrets placed tactically, rather than liberally.”

“Real tactical,” Nick said lowly, “Seein’ as I haven’t seen a single one.”

“Because they’re working.” Preston’s loud, clear laugh was an honest sound, one that reminded him of the rookies under him at the P.D., “But they keep us safe. General’s a menace with machines, she is.”

“You can say that again,” he shuddered. Preston rose a brow and he waved a hand. “Anyway,” Nick continued, “How many people here?”

“Last census was…oh, yeah – around thirty.” Preston snickered at Nick’s open guffaw. “Come on, it’s not _that_ many.”

“Beg to differ,” he managed. “Candy said you lot were just a “few regular joes”.”

“Oh, I bet she did,” Preston said. He kept walking and turned a corner, so Nick followed. They came upon a few more ruined houses, cleanly patched with fairly spotless pieces of tin and steel. Even some of the windows actually had glass in them. “She downplays the Minutemen a lot. Probably the only humble thing about her.”

Nick cocked a brow and tilted his head. “Humble and Cancio aren’t usually in the same tax bracket.”

“What’s a tax bracket?”

“It’s…nevermind.”

“Well, okay,” Preston shrugged. “Oh, hold on – Sturges!”

From inside the building a man came, overalls stained with grease, along with…pretty much the rest of his face. He was grinning brightly and took off his gloves. “Heya, Garvey. Now, who’s this?”

“Nick Valentine, a detective.” Preston jerked his head to the other man. “This is Sturges. He’s the local mechanic.”

“Handyman, really. I just tinker, is all.” Sturges stuck out a hand which Nick shook. “Nice to meet ya.”

“Pleasure.” As Nick leaned back, he cast his gaze around. “You’ve really got quite the joint, lieutenant, I’ve gotta say.”

“We’ve got a general store, a restaurant, and if Sturges gets his way, probably a power-armor workshop,” Preston nodded to Sturges who just shrugged, albeit with a smirk. “It’s been a team effort.”

“So it has…” he couldn’t help but frown at something missing, one hand going to rub idly at the hole in his neck. “Say, just outta curiosity – Where’s she gone to? Cancio.”

“Probably her house,” Preston said. “I…wouldn’t recommend visiting her now, if that’s what you’re planning.”

“No, I wasn’t,” he said quickly, “But why?”

“’Cause the boss, well,” Sturges piped up, shifting, “She gets focused when she’s workin’. We’ve learned the hard way not to interrupt her.”

“I…see,” Nick frowned. He turned his gaze back in the direction Candy had left, but he couldn’t make out which one was actually her home, so he gave up the search and turned back. The sun was setting. “We just came here for the dog, you know.”

“Oh, dogmeat?” Preston blinked. Nick mirrored his expression, and then found a snicker bubbling in his throat.

“Wait, no- that mutt?” he chuckled, “When she said a dog, I didn’t- figures. Oh, brother, that figures.” Despite Preston and Sturges’ confusion, Nick just ran a hand over his face and sighed. “Someone like her _would_ have him. Guess the hound’s drawn to trouble whether he likes it or not.”

But when he took his hand away, Preston’s expression was…well, “unreadable” was about as good a description as any. The lieutenant just tilted his head, and though he wasn’t _frowning_ , per se, it looked to Nick like there was something heavier on his mind than dogs. “…Valentine,” he started, “I haven’t shown you our restaurant. Come have a drink with me? Or…” his eyes flicked over the metal plating on Nick’s face, “Well, you know.”

Nick paused, then turned, and put his hands in his pockets. “Well, sure. Don’t see why not.”

* * *

 

It could barely be called a restaurant, Nick thought – more akin to an outdoor café at best. But it was lively, lit up with various bulbs and lamps around the edges. A woman with short dark hair and a pinched face manned the bar, while another man, droopy-eyed and hunched, was cooking in the back. The smells of brahmin steak hit his sensors like a punch. He reckoned if he had saliva that it would be gathering in a puddle.

“Garvey,” the woman greeted as they arrived. Preston nodded back.

“Marcy. Just a beer?”

She scoffed, muttered something, but Preston didn’t seem to mind. They sat at a couple of couches in the back, decorated on the side by leafy plants and a few hubflowers. _Just like Candy to mind the aesthetics_ , Nick thought. It brought a little smirk to his face.

When Preston’s drink was in his hand, he turned back, dark eyes meeting the man’s questioning gaze. Nick was unsure if he should speak first. Was this an interrogation? Why did it feel like one?

“So, I kind of lied to you,” Preston started. Nick tilted his head for clarification. “I didn’t give you a tour just because I was bored. I was…”

“Let me guess,” Nick said, “Mapping the possible threat, eh, kid?”

“Hey, can you blame me?” Preston shot back, “We have to. It’s the only reason we stay peaceful. If a little suspicion is the price to pay, well-“ he paused to sip his beer, “I think we’re doing alright.”

“Hey, no judgement here,” Nick said with his hands up. “C’mon, kid, you think I don’t know about suspicion?” With his skeletal hand, he motioned to the wiring in his neck. Preston blinked, realized something, and somewhat sheepishly nodded with a smile.

“Sorry. If it helps, it isn’t anything personal.” He shook his head. “But, hey, good news is you checked out – you seem like a decent guy. But, uh…there’s something else I lied to you about.”

Nick’s brow went higher. All he did was crookedly grin, however, and fold his hands as he leaned back. “Gosh, here I thought you were supposed to be the honest types. Breakin’ my heart over here.”

“All in the job description,” the lieutenant chuckled. For a little while, Preston went quiet, one finger scratching the stubble on his cheek as he nursed a few more sips from his beer. To Nick, it seemed like he was deep in thought about what to say next. His eyes went a little distant. “Truth is, we…kind of already knew who you were. Or, well, I did.”

“Now that’s interesting,” Nick said, “How?”

“Because Candy talked about you.” Preston looked about as sheepish as Nick did shocked, “She didn’t mention the, uh, synth bit, but she talked about you, for sure. Um. A lot.”

Hold on.

Candy…talked about him? About _him_? The amount of possibilities calculating in his mind about her choice of subjects was near endless, and yet his Institute-brand brain couldn’t find one reason why she’d bother. Nick opened his mouth, worked for a response, but found none. He tried again, and still the words wouldn’t come out. He finally settled for a slow nod, a frown of confusion, and a muttered, “…Hm.”

Preston laughed lightly through his nose and shifted on the couch. He removed his hat to set it aside. “I was kind of curious, I guess, is all. Because the way she talked about you, well…sounded like you were already dead.” Another sip from his beer. “So when she suddenly turns up, announces you as “Nick Valentine, the detective”, I guess I just had to, well…Had to see.”

“Well, hey,” Nick started when he figured his voice would allow him, “Can’t blame ya, I suppose. What…did she say?” He cleared his throat. “About me, that is.”

Not about him, he told himself. About the Nick that _was_ dead. The real Nick, the old one, what have you – _that’s_ the man she was remembering. The husk across from Preston was just some sort of fately reminder. But though a husk he was, he was still a husk of _him_ , which explained the weird tightness in his gut at the expectation of Preston’s response. Was he nervous? Nervous of what Candy would say about him?

No, not nervous, he told himself. He didn’t have a damn thing to prove to her. He was just…curious, was all. Immensely curious.

Preston spoke up eventually, tasting his words before he said them. “At first it didn’t make a lot of sense. I didn’t believe her, really, when she said she was pre-war. Not until, she, um…” quietly, “She showed me the vault.”

Nick didn’t respond. He just lowered his head, cleared his throat. Preston continued after a bit.

“It isn’t really my place to say everything she said. But I will say that I can see you’ve got some kind of grudge against her – if you’re somehow the Nick from _her_ past, then that explains why. She told me you two…didn’t get along. At all.”

“Putting it lightly.”

“Yeah,” he laughed, “Real lightly. But she also said that you were smart. And that, well…” he almost seemed…embarrassed? But that didn’t make sense. Nick just realized he’d been leaning in with every word, so he corrected himself and went back.

“That I was what?” he said, totally normally.

“That you were a good person. And someone she missed.” Preston was looking at him again. “That’s already more than I should be saying. The reason I’m even telling you this is because you seem to have some kind of issue – that’s your reasons, I get it, but…regardless of who she used to be, she’s our General.” Preston finished his beer and sighed. “And we’re extremely lucky to have her. I’m just defensive, I suppose.”

Preston seemed a bit younger than before after that. Nick wouldn’t necessarily have called it inexperience, but he wouldn’t have called it wisdom, either. It was the kind of expression he’d seen on the children of people he’d put behind bars, an expression of realization that they were alone in the world. Just as quickly, though, his expression was a bit warmer. Nick realized he must have been thinking about Candy.

“…I know you said not to disturb while the doll’s workin’, and all,” Nick started, “But a bot’s just realized he might have some things to say.”

Preston grinned at him. That knowing glint was back in his eye. “The house at the end of the cul-de-sac. Usually it has a Mr. Handy in front of it. She’s in there.”

“Thanks, kid,” Nick said, standing. Preston stood with him. “You’re doing good work here, you know. I mean it.”

Preston’s smile widened and he clapped Nick on the shoulder without a hint of trepidation. “From what I’ve heard, Valentine, so are you.”

* * *

 

Nick found the house. However out of character Candy might have been acting before, one look at the wasteland grandeur of Villa Cancio told him otherwise She’d gotten relatively even planks of wood, built them up into a two-story number and even had windows decorating the outside – criminally domestic, he wanted to say. He almost asked why she didn’t just repurpose one of the houses already here. That inquiry was quickly shot down – this was Candy. Originality was practically her middle name.

What looked to be a lamplight shone from the upper window. Nick adjusted his hat, his coat, and stepped up to the porch. Should he knock? Did Candy even lock her door?

After what felt like hours of deliberation and battling between Chicago Gentleman and Annoyed Cop, Nick finally turned the handle. It went easily. Either Candy had suddenly forgotten every cautious bone in her body, or she’d been expecting someone, and Nick knew better than to disregard the former. He paused in the doorway. If she was expecting anyone, he really shouldn’t interrupt. Facades of privacy, and all that.

“Do they train you to brood like that at the P.D., or is that a job qualification?” Candy’s voice called from the window. Nick jerked his head up to see her raven curls poking out while she fiddled with the shutters. “You’ve been standing at my doorway like a statue for three straight minutes. What, are you a vampire? Do I need to invite you in?”

A grumble slowly settled in Nick’s chest. He’d been stupid to worry about her privacy. Clearly, Candy wasn’t keen on letting him even _consider_ treating her with some common decency. “It may be a foreign conundrum to you, doll, but I was programmed with these things called “manners”. I’d tell you to try ‘em, but I’m afraid they’re outta fashion.”

“Oh, perish the thought,” Candy laughed, “Hold on, Valentine. I’ll be right down.”

Maybe she caught his grumble of “take your damn time”, maybe she didn’t, but regardless, Candy was at the door in a flash. When she opened it, Nick realized she wasn’t in her duster anymore – just a casual blue dress and low heels. Where she’d found _those_ , he had no idea. The dress was cinched at the waist, hanging off her hips in a way that swung the fabric hypnotically with every shift of her posture. She’d even done her hair a bit differently – the action-bun was gone, and it was hanging loosely over her shoulders, curls reaching down her back.

“Take your time, detective,” her smooth voice purred, “Too bad every camera’s broken, or I’d tell you to take a picture.”

He realized he’d been staring. Nick coughed, straightened, and shoved his hands in his pockets to keep them from waving about to save his pride. “Just caught me off guard, Cancio. Never seen you look like a housewife in my life.”

“Hm, that do something for you, then?” she said with a pearly smile, stepping back and waving him in. Nick walked over with a roll of his eyes.

“I’m just saying that “domestic” ain’t a half bad look on you. Those blazers and blouses in the courthouse made you look ready to eat a man’s heart out.”

“You’d be surprised how much of my job depended on a good wardrobe.” Candy closed the door and sauntered to the kitchen. “Go on, sit down. I’m going to get myself some coffee.”

When Nick didn’t, and rather just stared at her with tense shoulders and distrust in the clench of his jaw, Candy just scoffed and waved her hand insistently. “My God, I asked you to sit down, not defuse a bomb. Stop looking at me like that.’

He complied…slowly. Nick eased himself into the couch, casting his gaze about the room and taking in the architecture. It wasn’t as…lavish, as he’d come to expect from her. Then again, there was only so much even Cancio could do with wasteland resources. The couch was good, stained and punctured in some places, pressed against the wall with a painting of…something red, he guessed, above it. A few decorations here and there, and a small little table in the back in what passed for a breakfast nook. The “kitchen” was just a stove and cabinets arranged haphazardly along the wall.

In the back, he saw some iron stairs lead up to a loft, and Nick caught the better edge of a desk peeking out from the platform. Office and bedroom, apparently. That must have been where she was.

He spoke up as she returned with a cup. “So, how are, ah, “all” those reports going?”

Candy’s instant distaste was better comedy than Ed Sullivan. She settled into the far end of the couch, curling her legs underneath her. “What, did Preston ask you to nag me? Here I thought you came here for pleasant company.”

“When you start bringing “pleasant” anything, Cancio, give me a call.” The instant those words left his lips he cringed, because what little openness in Candy’s eyes was now closed, and she turned to sip at her cup. It was strange how he’d never noticed it before the war. Nick chalked it up to the machine calculations.

He came here to soothe things over, damn it. All he was doing was letting habit ruffle the feathers.

“…Look,” he started, “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean it.”

“Oh, yes you did,” she snapped, voice colder than he expected, “You always do. You couldn’t lie if your life depended on it, Nicky.”

He waited for her to take another sip before Nick leaned a bit closer, tapped her elbow for her attention, and motioned to his eyes. He thanked the Institute glow for holding her attention, at least out of interest. “Yeah, you’re right, doll. I can’t lie. So, when I say that I’ve been giving you a little harsher than I’ve meant to, what do you think I’m meaning?”

She narrowed her eyes, frowned, but never looked away. If there was one thing he knew about Candy, it was that she loved the emotional upper hand – which was why this vulnerability on her was so foreign. He might have even ventured to call it addicting.

“…Fine,” she said, “So you’re sorry. Is that why you came in here? To apologize, make yourself feel better?”

“You really don’t make this easy, do you…” he muttered. Candy’s look clearly communicated _well, what did you expect_? His fingers worked their way over his tie again, like loosening it would release something smart from his lips instead of the hole-digging lot he’d been stuck with. “Look, I’ll say it again – I’m not here to make you an enemy, believe it or not. Why would I be helping you – for _free_ , might I add – if I was?”

She looked away from him. “Because you love your sense of duty more than you hate me. What else?”

He nearly ground his teeth. Far be it from him to expect her to listen for five seconds, even if it benefitted her in the end. The one time he tries to lower himself, his prostration got turned on its metallic head by her ego, and she never hesitated to rub salt in the wound. Fine. He still had some pride.

Nick stood with a huff. “Believe what you wanna believe, doll. I’ll be out there when you realize I’m not the villain here.”

“No, but I am, aren’t I?” she said. Candy had looked back at him now, but her fingers were clutching that coffee mug tighter than earlier. It didn’t take a detective to see the white of her knuckles. Christ, she was going to crush the thing. Against his better judgement, Nick stilled, and as his gaze wandered from her fingers, up her arms, and finally to her eyes, he realized they were shining in the low light of her lamp. Not shining like his, no – a better word would be glistening.

Damn. What had he done now?

He took a step towards her. Then, he took another. Then, he was in front of her, slowly kneeling until he was eye level. Candy never moved away from him, just sat still as a ragstag doe before a hunter’s barrel. Nick had to wonder – did she feel like she was the prey?

“…Candy,” he started, carefully, “What’s wrong?”

It was strange, but as she tried to speak, Nick would have said she looked almost afraid. Not of him, which was the normal reaction. Just…afraid. But in true Cancio manner, she forced it down under a smirk and chuckle, but her eyes were still wet. “Everything, Nick,” she said, so quiet he had to lean to hear, “Everything is wrong.”

He felt his heart, wired as it was, sink just a little lower at that. “And what do you mean by everything, doll?”

She sniffed, wiped her eyes. It smudged a little bit of her liner across the upper bridge of her nose. “I meant what I said earlier. Why can’t… why can’t you…God,” she suddenly set her cup down and jerked her face away. “Can you just, ugh, look over there or something?” Was that a waver in her voice? “Spare me at least a bit of my pride, Valentine.”

He knew desperation when he heard it. So, Nick nodded, slowly, and sat down next to her again. Closer, this time. He felt his leg brush hers. But he angled his head to study the darkness out of the window, making idle shapes in the shadow while he waited for her to speak again.

When she did, it was sadly. “…You harangued me every time we met, before the war, that I was on the wrong side. Like I was unaware of the kind of people I defended. But you know me, Nick. You know I’m not that naïve.”

“Yeah, I did,” he said honestly, “S’pose that’s why I got so mad. You were – are – so smart. And you used that for crooks.”

“I won’t pretend I didn’t.” He felt her shrug. “Maybe I’ll tell you why someday.”

“Today can be someday.”

“No, it can’t, Nick,” Candy muttered, “Someday isn’t coming for a long while now. I just…” after a few more moments of gathering herself, she continued, “When I still thought you were dead, I wondered, you know. If you’d be proud of me for the Minutemen. If you thought I’d…changed.”

That sharp tug of guilt in his chest was now a full-blown anchor, but Nick steadied himself and huffed. “Doll, I – I’m sorry about that. I had no right to doubt you like that. You did well. Really well. And all I did was accost you for it.”

“…Maybe I’ll let myself believe you, one day,” Candy said. She was looking back at him now, eyes still wet, but a little less so, smile a little wider. “Do me a favor, Valentine?”

“After how I acted,” he laughed a little, “Anything.”

“This doesn’t change anything. Don’t go getting soft on me.” Like a contrast to her words, she placed her fingers over his hand. He jerked when he realized it was the skeletal one. “I had a moment of weakness. But you, reminding me of what I was, _who_ I was…it’s my last tie to before. I need that tie, Nick.” She gulped. “Please.”

Had her eyes always been that dark? Damn, had she always been that close?

The way the lamplight played around her cheekbones and off her dark skin reminded him of fireflies in the night, he realized. Flickering, hypnotic, nostalgic. Knowing you could never catch them for long, because Nature would take them back one way or another. And as Candy stared at him, lips parted in question with that nearly dainty glisten of tears in her eyes, Nick felt a dangerous tug in his heart. A tug straight towards her.

He knew that tug, he realized. And it was not one he needed for Candy.

“Sure, doll,” he managed. Against his better judgement he squeezed her hand back. “I got ya.”

“Good.” Candy smiled widely then, and the pearliness of it all nearly fried his sensors. This was bad. This was really, really bad. Apparently unsympathetic to his new realization, she stood and sauntered upstairs. A traitorous part of his mind imagined her turning back, tilting her head, _aren’t you coming_?

“Nick?” she questioned. He jerked to attention. “Let’s leave in the morning? I need some sleep.”

“S-Sure,” he croaked. “Night.”

“Night, Valentine,” she whispered. Candy climbed, turned off her lamp, and there Nick was left, once more making shapes out of the darkness, this time the one that surrounded him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrangling Candy's voice when I'm writing is strangely difficult, lmao. But yeah, here it is! I appreciate any thoughts!


	5. Vulnerability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Candy can't believe she let herself get carried away. She sets out to make things straight, makes them a little more crooked in the process, and along the way Nick is just trying to figure out what the hell is going on.

MARCH 4, 2071

“I’m a married woman, Nick,” Candy purred around her cigarette, “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

Fighting the rising heat in his cheeks, Nick grumbled and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Trust me, Cancio – the day I ask you for anything involving pleasure is the day those bombs drop for good. I didn’t ask you here for anything like _that_.”

“Aw, you really know how to disappoint a woman,” she chuckled, and smushed the butt of her cigarette deeper into the ashtray. On the cool patio air of the café, Nick could smell the tendrils of that cigarette as they tickled his nose, tauntingly, and did his best to ignore the sudden itch for his own pack in his pocket. _Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, detective_ , he could hear her saying. How bad had it gotten that he heard her in his head?

“So,” Candy continued, sipping lightly from her wine, “If not my company, why _did_ you ask me here, Valentine?”

“Because, frankly, you’ve got something I need.”

She rose a brow. “Do we have a different definition of “no pleasure”?”

“We better not,” he warned, “And you didn’t let me finish, doll. I’ve also got something _you_ need. Badly, if I’m correct.”

“Do tell.”

Nick knew he had to play this carefully. To say the dame was smart wasn’t only an understatement, it was practically insulting – she was telepathy wrapped in smoky shadow and a beauty mark. Working on the brighter side of the P.D. usually only brought him into contact with the grunts, the muscleheads of the criminal empire, so his practice at evading the braincells of the bunch was unfortunately a little rusty. However, if there was one thing he learned, it was that the last thing anybody crooked expected was honesty.

Playing it straight had its’ perks.

He leaned forward in his chair. “We’ll start with me, then. You’ve got a way of getting your cronies out of the hot seat without so much as a scratch. I ain’t dumb, Cancio – I know that means connections, favors, and a whole lotta charisma. I’ve learned playin’ the moral card with you ain’t getting me nowhere, but the point remains that you’re a player we want in our game.”

Candy calculated this, her eyes flicking over his face, locking on his own only occasionally. She took another sip of her wine. “…You’re right,” she finally said, “While I’d love to tout my own talents as the sole reason for success, yes, I will admit I have many strings to pull. That’s not a crime now, is it, detective?”

“Course not. Last I checked, anyway.” Nick shrugged. “But thing is, there’s one string you can’t pull, and I think it’s one you need pretty badly.”

A flicker of interest. He’d snagged something. “Oh?”

“You play untouchable pretty well, but what bugs you is that we’re just as far out of your reach. If you had some inside men working at the P.D., I’m sure your cases would go a hell of a lot smoother.”

Candy surprised him with a laugh, tossing her hair back over her shoulder. “Well now, is the gallant Nick Valentine finally turning crooked? Thought you played the straight schtick, darling.”

“Still do, doll, still do.” He lightly laced his fingers together. “I’m just proposing a trade. Tell us some of your secrets, we tell some of ours, and this whole situation evens out.”

“You think that’s going to win me over?” she laughed again, “Secrets? Nick, I know more secrets about your boys than you ever could know about mine. Tell you what – I can respect the deal. I can also respect that you were brave enough to ask me here. You didn’t even slip a bug into my purse or anything.”

“How do you know that?” he asked before he meant to, then hid his embarrassment by sipping his wine again. Candy shook her head.

“Because you wouldn’t. Like I said – you play the straight shtick,” she said, “But I’m not going to tell you anything.”

Damn. He’d been daft to think that would work. Cancio wasn’t going to let herself go to a few pretty offers – he reminded himself that using tricks reserved for small time crooks wasn’t getting them someone like her, someone who not only knew the game, but knew how to cheat it. As if she could sense his disappointment, Candy chuckled and crossed a leg.

“Now, now,” she crooned, “Don’t look so down. I never said I wouldn’t give you a chance.”

Nick frowned. He leaned in. “What kind of chance are we talking, here?”

“A chance to get what you say you need so, so badly.”

He rose a brow, silently questioning, which Candy only smirked at. She continued, “Tomorrow night, Nathaniel and I are going to a gala, hosted by a dear friend of ours. You’re familiar with Sal Barsconi?”

“Barsconi?” he echoed, “Billionaire Barsconi? Son of one of the richest Italians this side of Massachusetts?”

“That’s the one, champ. I can arrange you an invitation. The whole affair’s rather…private, you see. For reasons.” Her eyes flashed. “It’s also where I’m meeting another potential client who’s been needing my services for a while. If you can manage not to draw attention to yourself, figure out who my client is, _and_ why they need me, then…I suppose I can be persuaded to let a few names drop.”

“I don’t get it.” Nick shook his head. “What’s in this for you?”

“A good laugh,” she grinned, “And an answer to a question I’ve had for a while.”

“Do I get to know this question?”

“Not until I’ve answered it. Now then, you in? Or does the P.D. dissuade evenings of excitement?”

“Hardly, Cancio. My blood pressure might, though.” He lightly scratched his stubble with his chin, then sighed. “Hell, it’s closer than the rest of us got. Fine. Tomorrow night – what time?”

“The invitation will say. I’m advised not to speak too much out loud.” Candy stood, adjusted the red number she was wearing, and dropped a few bills on the table. Something in her motions paused after that. To Nick, it looked like she was thinking, hard, but that expression went quick as it came and she was looking at him again.

Nick couldn’t resist it. He piped up, “Looks like you’re worried about somethin’, doll. I can lighten the load.”

“Aren’t you the gentleman?” she smiled, “No thank you.”

“You this secretive with all the men in your life?” he pried. Candy’s eyes narrowed but her smile never left. He continued. “You said you _and_ your Nate will be there, right?”

Ah. There it was. Candy’s fingers tightened near imperceptibly on her coin purse. “I wouldn’t, Nick.”

“Wouldn’t what?”

“Don’t make me be blunt, you know it’s so unfashionable,” she said. Candy wasn’t quite smiling anymore. “Don’t bother with Nate.”

“Afraid I’ll find somethin’ out?”

“Not at all. This is for your defense, not his.” Then, Candy was stepping closer to him, hips swaying, and one of her hands landed on his shoulder. He tilted his chin up at her. Suddenly, her expression had abandoned its guard, and she was frowning, eyes narrowed. “Nate’s not in your caliber, hotshot. I know it’s tempting to try to take him down then and there, and he will taunt you, but keep a cool head.”

“Awfully kind of you to warn me,” he said, lowly. The scent of her perfume reminded him of jasmine tea. Candy was looking at him, figuring him out, just as he was her, and Nick told himself it was for the good of the case. It was for the good of the case that he felt like he was missing something, that his hands wanted to inch in directions they didn’t need.

Smart women like this, he mused, knew what they were doing. She easily could have been playing reverse psychology, and a dame like her had that turned into an art. But where she had brains, Nick had guts, and his were telling him this wasn’t a ruse. They were also telling him that he’d never quite seen her in lighting like this, in a dress like that. Reminding him of the memory of Nate’s hands, sliding around her waist. Nick felt something foreign clutch into his chest, and it was tight, and unknown.

 “What if I don’t want to keep a cool head?” His words were driving somewhere else, somewhere he didn’t mean for them to be. Of its’ own accord, his hand placed over her own. He thought he felt it heat. “It wrong to want somethin’ more than what you’re told?”

She didn’t speak for a little while, but Candy _was_ watching him, lips slightly parted, and dare he say, shocked. When she did talk, it was softly, the softest he’d heard in her grandeur voice. “It depends, Valentine,” she breathed, “On if you were really told otherwise at all.”

* * *

 

Stupid.

Stupid.

Stupid.

There weren’t as many absolutes in the world of law as people thought. More of an art than a science, really – but even within that, there were rules. Not the fun ones, begging to be broken, but rules that promised your time in the courthouse kingdoms wouldn’t be long if you chose not to follow. One of them? Don’t ever let yourself be vulnerable.

And what had she done? Exactly fucking that.

Candy nearly smacked her palm against her desk in frustration, but quickly realized that would cause a scene. The last thing she needed was that. More people coming in, approaching her, _worried_ about her. Like Nick.

Something must have been in the air, she realized, because there was no reason for her to have absolutely _babbled_ like that just because he flashed her a pair of pretty amber lookers. How weak was she, to barely need prodding from her supposed “enemy” to spill her guts like a bad drama? Nate would’ve been disappointed. He loved how cool she kept under pressure.

Wasn’t here to judge anyway.

The memory of that night was cackling in the back of her mind as she dressed herself, slipped her duster on, angled her fedora just right, and climbed the stairs to the main room. Nick had left in the night. Right after…well, everything, she supposed. Another wave of embarrassment smacked her upside the head and she nearly wobbled with the force of it, cheeks heating, eyes squinting, wishing that just once things could go her way.

How to smooth this over? How to convince the most perceptive man she knew that hey, she was fine, no need to look behind the curtain, all of that? He’d just call her out in an instant. Probably flash those signature Valentine puppy eyes at her too. One would think animatronics would dull the effect, but somehow that LED glow only worsened it. If only he knew just how much trouble she had saying no to him.

Her fingers started on a cup of coffee, movements instinctive by this point, though her eyes were distant. As she set the water heating, Candy reached for the tin, frowning when her hand landed on empty space. Still looking at the pot, she padded around more, and yet _still_ not finding that god damned-

“Looking for this, doll?”

She whirled fast enough to send her curls flying over her shoulder. Nick was standing there, the tin in his skeletal hand, question in his eyes. When she didn’t say anything, he coughed. “Uh, you left it on the other shelf, is all. Here ya go.”

She took it silently. Nick stared back at her. When he seemed to realize her brain was incapable of supporting speech at the moment, he spoke up again, feigning nonchalance so brilliantly she’d nominate him for an Oscar if it mattered anymore. “So,” he started, “Listen, Cancio, I know you said don’t mention it, but about last night-“

“You follow instructions brilliantly, detective.”

“Oh, hush it,” he said without his usual bite. “I mean – look. I was a little shell shocked, but I didn’t really get the chance to say it…I’m, uh, I’m here if you need me. I pride myself on bein’ an observant fella, but I couldn’t see how it was affecting you.”

God. There it was. The Valentine effect. Did he realize just how well he pouted? The glow of his irises was alluring enough to keep her from realizing the water was just about boiling until a bubble popped and landed on her hand. Candy jumped, hissed, and whirled around again, swiftly taking the pan off the flame.

“Shit,” she hissed, putting the burn to her mouth. When she looked up again, Nick was at her side.

“Here, lemme take a look at that,” he muttered, snatching her hand before she could say otherwise. All Candy was left to do was watch him inspect her palm gently, like she was made of glass, or even something more fragile. It felt strange. She wasn’t sure how to take it. So, she snatched her hand back to her chest with a huff.

“It’s fine,” she said. Nick rose a brow in disbelief. “I mean it! Don’t go babying me now.”

“Right, forgot you’re allergic to compassion.” There went his eyes rolling. “Come on. We made some real progress last night. You’re not gonna convince me you’re hard as rock _now_.”

This was what she was afraid of. Candy stiffened, hand instinctively cradling her burnt palm tighter, coffee all but forgotten. Nick watched her every move. She could see every flick of his eyes to her microexpressions, to the twitch in her fingers, reading her, _calculating_ her, in a way the old Nick could never do. It was beyond unnerving, but strangely hypnotic, in a way she didn’t want to analyze.

“Hmph,” she turned on her heel and started tying up her hair, “Nicky, there’s this little phrase in the underground we used to call a _scam_. I’m sure you’re familiar with it.” Once she was done she looked at him again, summoned every ounce of courtroom confidence into the tilt of her chin, and mirrored his raised brow. “What, you get one chance to play the white knight, and you forget you’re talking to the wife of a conman? Shame, Valentine.”

“I- What?” he stuttered. A frown crept onto his lips. “Yeah, sure, doll. Even you ain’t that good an actress.”

“Now that hurts, detective,” she cooed, practiced and smooth, “Metal or not, every man falls for tears. I was just curious about your convictions.” She sauntered past him with an emphasized swing in her steps. “Did you really think you’d broken Candy Cancio down that easily?”

When Nick didn’t answer, she didn’t look back at him. His stare was palpable on her back. She just fixed a few strands of her bun and strapped her pistol to her hip again. On went her shoulder bag. Finally it was time to turn again, properly steeled and ready to face-

Nick’s expression was unreadable at best. He leveled his stare at her appraisingly, then settled on a grim set of his lips and shook his head. “Of course you did. Suppose the blame’s on me for fallin’, then?”

Wait.

Did that work?

She blinked at him somewhat owlishly before suddenly remembering that she was supposed to be victorious. Quickly straightening, Candy slapped a grin on her cheeks and made sure to avoid direct eye contact, busying herself with the straps on her bag. “Oh, don’t look so down, Nick. It’s not like you’re the only one I’ve tricked. Wasteland men are somehow easier than pre-war ones.”

“Sure seems that way. You got Garvey out there singin’ your damn praises.” Ouch. _That_ was a bite in his tone. Candy didn’t have to be looking at him to know that. “Here I’d thought you had a little hope in you. People really don’t change.”

Somewhere along his words, her fingers had stilled on her pack. He sounded upset. More upset than usual, really. Nick was always easily irritated (knowing from experience) but he’d never been the type to sound so _hurt_ over something practically in her user’s manual. Damn, now _she_ was making robot jokes.

A quick scoff and flip of her bangs provided the façade she needed. Candy looked back at him with a raised brow. “Please. What did dear Preston say that got you so mushy?”

Nick paused a moment. He looked unsure. “…Well, it don’t matter much now, I suppose.”

“Hold on!” Candy called as Nick made his way out, “What did he say?”

“Like I said,” he shot back, “It doesn’t matter. Fella probably had it wrong anyhow.”

They were walking in the angriest synchronization the Commonwealth had ever seen, with Candy growing more and more frustrated at his avoidance to her questions. “C’mon, Valentine, you can’t be that petty – it was a joke! What, you don’t have a joke algorithm?”

“Seems the Institute left that juicy morsel out, didn’t they?” he growled, “Where’s the dog, anyway? Ain’t that what we came here for?”

“He comes around when he wants to,” Candy admitted and jerked at the glower in his eyes, “It’s not an excuse! I’ve tried training him, but he’s a mind of his own.”

Nick huffed, turned, muttered something about tight leashes and stalked off faster. Like hell she was going to be caught trailing behind a man – Candy sped ahead of him and blocked his path with her arms outstretched. Nick stopped. She rose a brow.

“What do you want me to say,” she tilted her head, “Sorry? This is how I am, Nicky.” _Liar_ , she chided to herself, _You were all but weeping into his arms like a damsel yesterday. And he was ready to accept that_. “Fine, if it keeps you from pouting the entire case. I’m sorry. That better?”

He rolled his eyes. “They don’t teach you how to apologize in those fancy law schools?”

“Apologies aren’t very profitable,” she admitted. Nick just shifted.

“…Fine,” he finally relented, “But on a condition. We aren’t gonna operate like the old days, doll. You buzzin’ around, making my life hell and getting off without a scratch.” One finger jerked at her, “Keep your tricks. Next one comes and I’m leavin’, no ifs, ands, or buts.”

“Darn, I love b-“ His frown made her gulp, “Fine, fine. Spoilsport.”

“And proud of it. Now then-“ stepping around her again, Nick waved his hand, “Let’s look for that dog.”

* * *

 

“Thanks for that, Dogmeat,” Preston huffed. “Hand me the wrench next?”

Dogmeat barked and grabbed the tool in his lopsided grin. Preston smiled back as he grasped it. “Don’t know how the hell you’re this smart, but I’m not questioning it. Good boy.”

Another bark of approval. He tightened the last bolt on the door. The damn thing had been swinging like a prize fighter every time a radstorm rolled around – maybe this would fix it. Wiping a bead of sweat off his brow, Preston turned back to Dogmeat to scratch behind his ears. The mutt leaned into it, only whining softly in response.

“-And _I’m_ telling you that’s now how it works!”

“What do you know? Codsworth won’t rust, he’s Robco tech!”

“Doll, if you don’t oil that bot sometime, you’re gettin’ a lot more clank with your clean.”

“And how would you know?”

“ _I’m made of metal!_ ”

Oh, boy. This early in the morning, too?

Preston eyed Candy and Nick approaching from the southern end of the neighborhood, heatedly debating Codsworth’s capacity for chrome. He wondered if either of them were aware how loud they were. Probably not. Oh, and here they came, closer to him, closer and louder and infinitely more irritating. Whatever he’d said last night to ease that tension had, undoubtedly, just made it worse.

“Good morning to you too,” he muttered under his breath. Shifting the brim of his hat, Preston looked back down at Dogmeat, who just stared back at him, head cocked in question. “I don’t know what’s wrong with them either, boy,” he said.

“And you call _me_ the stubborn one, honestly,” Candy huffed as they approached. She stopped when her eyes landed on him, and then on Dogmeat, and then she grinned, wide and welcoming. “Dogmeat!” she exclaimed, crouching down, “C’mere, baby!”

Only too happy to listen to his mistress, Dogmeat bounded over, tongue lolling, nearly attacking her in drool, fur and love. Nick watched candy with an expression akin to amusement as she laughed, but quickly tried to cover it with a frown every time her gaze met his. Preston suppressed a raise of his brow. That was interesting.

“Suppose this means you’re heading out, then?” he asked, carefully neutral. Candy looked up from Dogmeat’s licking to nod.

“Yes, sir,” she replied jovially, “Don’t worry, the reports are finished and on my desk. Also, the question about Finch Farms you wrote – yes, but you’re gonna need some more firepower if you want that strong a caravan route. Ask around here before recruiting anyone else – we’re a little overpopulated as is.”

He fought back a smile. Keeping professional, in his opinion, was a priority with guests around, but as far as if Nick counted as a guest…it was safer to assume yes. Still, hearing Candy assume control so quickly in contrast to her _usual_ personality just felt…good. Safe. Like there had been some reason in him giving the role of General to the first competent stranger they’d met.

One look at Nick, however, proved his respect wasn’t limited to himself. The detective was watching her with pure interest, brows furrowed, like something confused him. Candy looked back at him in question, most likely feeling eyes on her neck, and he immediately shifted his gaze somewhere else.

What happened last night?

The Glowing Sea was closer to Sanctuary than that line of thought was to his business. Preston shifted his rifle and coughed a little to clear the mood. “Affirmative, ma’am. Have a safe journey.”

“Will do, Garvey,” Candy answered. She gave him a playful salute, one which he returned stiffly. Nick managed one too, halfhearted with two fingers above his fedora.

* * *

 

A few miles outside of Sanctuary, Candy stopped, fishing one of the San Francisco Sunlights out of her bag. Nick watched as Dogmeat sniffed it curiously. “You think you can follow it, boy?” Candy asked, “C’mon, I know it’s not much, but…”

Dogmeat interrupted her with an affirmative bark. Candy’s grin split wide and soon he was off, happily trotting along the broken asphalt while the two trailed behind.

Nick fished a cigarette out from his pocket. Just before he could light it, Candy’s lighter was in front of him, and when he looked to her in question, she just smirked. “Take it. The wasteland’s too small for ego.”

“Twistin’ a man’s words around, classic Cancio,” he grumbled, but accepted it anyways. Once it was lit, he took in a drag, relished in the completion of the muscle memory, then let the smoke filter out his mouth and neck. He perched the stick between his fingers and took it out, shaking some of the embers away where they fizzled into the grass. Beside him, he heard Candy make a small “hm”.

“What?” he asked as they continued walking. Candy just shrugged.

“I’m awful curious – why do you smoke? It’s hardly like it does anything for you, being…well, you know.”

“Old habits either die hard or get reprogrammed, I guess,” he said, taking another drag. “Notice you ain’t quit either.”

“Like you said, old habits die hard.” Candy chuckled as she folded her arms. “I think a pack of cigarettes was the first thing I found when I left the vault. That, and a hell of a lotta radroaches.”

“Hm. You ever thought about quitting? Ain’t doin’ much to me, but you, well…” he shrugged, “Got a hell of a lot more to lose.”

“Aren’t you the good Samaritan?” she said, “Concerned about me even after this morning. How commendable, detective.”

Nick jerked in annoyance, but masterfully kept it down and played it off as a roll to his neck. He dragged the brim of his hat just a little further over his eyes. “Don’t think I forgot about that, now. I’m just sayin’ it out of some advice is all.”

“Hmph. Well, to answer your question, I might, after this is over. Right now it’s just about the only thing keeping me sane. Speaking of-“ And from one of her pockets she drew her own pack, but cursed when it was empty. “Shit. Naturally, it comes to this.”

As Dogmeat trotted on ahead, Nick couldn’t resist it – his lips curled up, and though he played it straight, played it cool, there was little hiding the satisfaction with which he offered the pack in his hand, casually, nothing to it. “Well, wouldn’t want a dame put out, now would we?”

Candy eyed him. Eyed the cigarettes. When she reached for it he suddenly jerked it away with a barely concealed snicker. “Ah, ah, ah. I ain’t heard nary a “please” nor “thank you”, Cancio. It’s like you said – I’m a straightliner. You’ve gotta play by the rules.”

“They put a “petty” algorithm in that shiny noggin, Valentine?” Candy snapped, “Just let me have one!”

“Got a fine pair of ears on you, doll. I know you heard what I said.” He jangled the pack in front of her not unlike a steak to a dog. The glee in his chest at her pout was near addictive. “C’mon. Ain’t that hard.”

She worked her lips into a deeper frown, made another feeble attempt at a snatch, then sighed. “Too big for ego, my ass. Fine. May I…ugh, may I _please_ have a cigarette?”

“Hm.” Nick appraised her. Then, he grinned. “Nah.”

“This is revenge, isn’t it?” she shot back. Dogmeat was now leading them off the road and through some woods, nose to the leaves the whole time. If only the mutt knew the show he was missing. “I’m not _that_ desperate, Nick. If you’re playing these silly little games, I just won’t bother.” Her arms folded tighter across her chest. Candy huffed, tilted her chin in indignance, and made a show of fixing her gaze just about anywhere but him.

Maybe they did give him a petty algorithm, but it felt damn great.

Old Nick probably would have apologized after a stunt like that. Hell, Old Nick had practically run the show last night, as he recalled the look on Candy’s face, her hand on his own. It still sent a charge down his spine, just thinking about it. For her just to leave him in the darkness like she knew what his traitorous thoughts would turn to, she knew and she’d be damn fine with it, and then morning came only for her to yank the wool from over his eyes.

He should’ve seen it coming. Really. That was classic Cancio material – the batting lashes, damsel in distress shindig. With how used he was to her other shenanigans, it was a wonder he’d let that work on him at all. There’d been a lot of pretty eyes and pouting lips pointed his way since he took the job. Old Nick and him both made a policy of never letting it interfere.

Except for last night.

Damn, was she a good actress. Cancio could’ve had a silver screen lineup if law hadn’t taken over. In fact, he’d venture that it was a little _too_ good. Not to mention she’d never used that card on him before. Vulnerable wasn’t quite the fashion statement Candy liked wearing. He was fairly sure her pride wouldn’t allow it. Every interaction he’d had with her before had been annoyingly confident.

His eyes flicked to her. Something wasn’t adding up. He’d been blind to it in the irritation from this morning, but watching her now…

“Hey, Cancio?” he tested, “You got somethin’ on your cheek.”

“What?” she answered, feeling around her face, “Is it a bug?”

“Nah, nah, nothing like that. Mind if I…?” he motioned to her, and after a moment of deliberation, she nodded, relinquishing her cheek to his thumb. However, Nick just cradled her jaw instead, skeletal frame of his hand firm against her skin. Candy’s eyes widened.

“What are you-“

“Lookit that,” he muttered, “If you were on your game, Cancio, you would’ve clocked me a mile over for doing this. Looks like you’re worried about something, doll.” Nick rose a brow, tilted his head. “If you want, I can lighten the load?”

Her cheek felt hot under his hand. Nick watched the way she flustered, but most of all he watched the look in her eyes, that split second of openness, lips parted in shock. The same look she’d given him last night.

Candy jerked away from him at last. “You caught me off guard. Don’t get cocky.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he retorted, still feeling her memory in his palm. They kept walking in silence. Nick looked at his hand, then back at her. She wouldn’t look his way.

Vulnerable, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyways I'm ALIVE  
> Sorry this took so long!! A lot of stuff has happened and this story is, admittedly, a lot more research heavy than my others, so I'm trying to make sure the groundwork lines up. I'm also going to go back and edit some of the other chapters - nothing story-changing, just altering some things here and there for newer readers (and if y'all wanna go back and see what I changed, feel free to!) But yeah! Tell me what you think and I'll be back!


	6. More than You Think

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Candy's issue with vulnerability comes to a climax right as their trail ends. Nick has some words for her.

MARCH 5, 2071

Now, he never really considered himself a man of fashion particularly – sure, indulged in the occasional splendor, maybe wore some pinstripes now and then when it counted, but Nick was a cop, and cops weren’t known for their opinions on couture.

But catching his passing reflection in the shop window, fedora tilted like the swanky fellas down at the casino, suit fitted, but not too much, collar just loose enough to show he had a throat worth biting – well, if he said so himself, he didn’t make a half bad sight.

Too bad tonight wasn’t just about showing out, though. He had a job to do. And he’d be damned if Cancio was going to laugh this one off.

The address on the invitation had taken a while to crack – secretive bunch, these folk were, and it was only after Widmark suggested invisible ink that he’d spotted the scribbles on the corner of what was, otherwise, an inconspicuous “join us” postcard. So, here he was. Standing frontwise of a little corner building as assuming as a family bookstore – if family bookstores employed brick wall bouncers glaring at him through tinted shades.

“Invitation?”

“Uh,” Nick fished it out of his pocket, smearing out a wrinkle, “Here.”

The bouncer took it. Nick assumed he was actually looking at it behind those shades – but who knew, really. After an agonizing amount of time in which he wondered just how far Candy would go to toy with him, he finally handed it back, jerking his head to the door.

_Here goes nothing_ , Nick thought, stepping through.

Boy, “bigger on the inside” was the understatement of the year. Gaping, sprawling marble floors, and the low, candle-fed lighting of the joint made them glow a little like fire themselves, reflecting each and every smirk and smolder of the attendees. Dolls lavished in mink furs and emeralds, fellas sporting Italian leather three times his annual salary. A glass of champagne in each hand. Somewhere in the back he heard a band crooning out a Billie Holiday song to a crowd of dancers in the center.

Was he out of his element? Unease crawled up his chest, latched onto his shoulder like a vice and purred in his ear. Cancio had said it straight – he wasn’t crooked enough for this establishment. He bet the folks here could smell the straightshooter on him like cigar smoke on an ashtray. It would help, he supposed, if he didn’t just stand in the entryway, gaping with all the grace of a rookie.

A hand landed on his shoulder. He jumped, harsher than he meant to, but when he jerked his head all he was met with was Candy, eyes glimmering in the light. She grinned at him.

“Glad you could make it, tiger,” she said lowly. “Beginning to think I’d scared you off.”

“You know me, doll,” he managed, somehow not sounding ten minutes from fainting, “Pretty dame invites me to a party, who am I to say no?”

“Don’t let Nate hear you say that,” she warned, though the humor hadn’t left her tone, “He’s the jealous type.”

“Then maybe his lady shouldn’t be the provoking type.” Nick cocked a brow. Candy blinked, but just as soon as her shock came she was covering with another chuckle, and patted his shoulder softly.

“Remember our deal, hotshot. I’m giving you until the end of the party. So,” she was stepping back, saunter in every step, and tilted her head, “Let’s both get what we need.”

Candy turned on her heel. He saw her chin tilt to a figure on the upper steps – Nate. He looked back at her, something soft and undefined and intimate, somehow just as fragile a gaze across a crowd of ten, twenty heads. But then Nate was looking at him, and that softness was gone. No, that was definitely a pierce he felt, a prickle on the back of his neck. The other man sneered.

_Jealous type, indeed_.

Nick’s initial method was timed and true – talking to people. It helped, he realized, that he didn’t actually look like a cop at all. The old coat and hat were a sturdy combo but locked lips tighter than glue and cement. Dressed like this, sharp as a knife but far less likely to cut? Smiles were thrown his way more than he’d bargained for. A few distant brushes of his shoulder flushed his cheeks, especially when they were by pretty, slender fingers too fleeting for him to find.

“Nice party,” he threw to another fella, some joker with wine-red cheeks and breath to match. “To be honest, I wasn’t sure how much they were gonna show out with the shindig.”

“Pfft, you kidding?” his conversation partner slurred back, “This is a Barsconi party, buddy. He don’t do nothin’ but the best. This must be your first one.”

“Heh, that obvious?” Nick grinned, easy and relaxed, but calculating every word sent to him. The other man just laughed and waved his hand.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he crooned, “Sal loves newbies. Go talk to him, he’s up at the main staircase. Business advice, though?” and then he was leaning in, somewhat conspiratorially, “Try not to look at the girl. Brother gets mad jealous.”

_He’s the jealous type_ , Candy’s voice echoed back at him. Nick couldn’t help a furrow of his brows. “Well, noted, thanks. Didn’t uh, catch your name.”

“Colin O'Malley,” he stuck out his hand, which Nick shook.

“What do you do, O’Malley?”

“Eh…let’s call it, uh, relocation affairs, yeah?” Whatever suspicion might have aroused at Nick’s unusual question was quickly clouded by the alarming amount of alcohol in his system. “And what about you, huh?”

“Grunt work, really,” not a total lie, right? He could still count his karma on the upside for the time coming. “Nothing really important.”

“Heh, if you say so, pal,” O’Malley laughed. He took another gulp of his drink, but then he paused, eyes locking on a figure Nick couldn’t quite make out in the distance. Then, he jerked his head – or maybe it was a nod, nevertheless suddenly standing with a straightness he wouldn’t have assumed from a drunkard. He nodded to Nick. “I’m gonna go meet some friends of mine – you enjoy the party, though.”

He was off. Nick traced his path through the crowd, direct and true, up the stairs right to Sal Barsconi – or, technically, right past him, seeing as he careened around the hall afterwards.

His eyes locked on Sal. Sure enough, he looked the boss, a lean, thin thing with amber-colored skin and a smattering of freckles across his nose. He leaned his head back, cackling in laughter, while he slung his arm around a pretty little thing with red hair and white fox fur draped around her shoulder. Must have been the girl. The few folks surrounding him looked equal levels of untouchable. Something Nick, most definitely, was not.

That was okay. He didn’t need to talk to Sal, not really.

_Find out who I’m working for, Valentine_ , he remembered Candy saying, _And maybe I’ll let a few names drop_.

Surely she wouldn’t be so obtuse as to implicate Sal right off the bat – he was Cancio caliber, for sure, but too obvious, too loud. No, it was somebody else here, somebody just as powerful who’d gotten their lot mixed in with some unlucky cards.

As he dragged himself along the side wall, occasionally sipping champagne to keep the cover, he spotted Candy again – this time without Nate, but not alone. She hung up on the upper level near a bookshelf while next to another woman, Chinese and small-framed. They were doing an excellent job of pretending not to talk. Unfortunately, Nick just knew how to watch for that sort of thing.

So, he hung back. Sipped some more and let them carry on their conversation. When it finally looked like the other woman was leaving, he sprang up, just “happening” to intercept her at the staircase.

“Pardon, pardon,” he said, a little more slur to his voice added for affect, “I think I know you from somewhere, doll. Visit my dreams often?”

She scoffed. If Nick was under the effect of giving a shit, he might have been stung by the absolute distaste in her eyes. “Try your luck somewhere else, pal,” she spoke, voice clipped and perfected, “I’m taken.”

“Sure,” he offered, “Nice night, then.”

She left without another word. Another path around the dancers in the center, then to the other staircase, waltzing back up and past Sal – just like O’Malley. One brow cocked. No, not _past_ Sal, not directly; he saw one of her shoulders brush the redhead next to him, they both paused, and then she went on her way.

So that’s how this worked.

 Nick just smirked, flicked his gaze to the top of the stairs where Candy was now watching, one brow cocked and lips pulled upwards in satisfaction. They stared at each other like that. Nick broke the charade by shrugging with a tip of his hat.

Candy rolled her eyes, but apparently not fully impervious to the Valentine charm, because she was soon descending the staircase, and now he had the time to fully appreciate the vision she made in that emerald number – hanging off her hips to the floor, with one slit up the side revealing a leg long as a life sentence. Candy waltzed his way, tilting her head.

“Any closer, detective?”

“Now, just why would I tell you?”

“Because I’m asking nicely?”

“You are? Since when?”

He’d earned a laugh from her. A more honest laugh than usual, and one that had him chuckling along, because damn if she wasn’t infectious. A man could get used to getting laughs like that.

One memory of Nate’s sneer made him very un-used to that, very fast. Nick shut his smile down with an awkward cough behind his hand. “Uh, I’m still workin’ on it, by the by. What are you doing talking to me? What’s that you said about Nate?”

“He’s off with some friends.” Candy shrugged. “So, I’m free to bother you as I please.”

“Careful, cause this don’t much seem like bothering.” Hell, what was he saying? He blamed that dress. That dress and those jewels around her neck. “I’m gonna figure it out, Cancio.”

“Are you now?” she said, “I’m on the edge of my seat.”

He opened his mouth to respond. No sound escaped before the band’s slow croon ended, and soon another tempo started – one noticeably faster, tenser, closer. A few couples exchanged smoldering glances before taking to the dance floor, and then Nick saw it, the rhythm of a tango making its way along the marble.

Then, he had an idea.

“How’s your dancing, doll?” he suddenly piped up. He relished in the short surprise in Candy’s eyes before she masked it with a shake of her head.

“No thank you, detective,” she said, one hand up, “Talking to you is one thing. Nate’s not going to like me on the floor with another man.”

“I don’t remember asking what Nate would like.” He stepped closer. Candy didn’t back away. Nick cocked a brow, held out his hand, palm up. “One song. You can say no.”

“…” Candy’s amber eyes flicked down to his palm. Then, they looked back up at him. She worked her lips tightly, and then once some decision flashed behind her eyes, she straightened; and placed her hand in his. Nick closed his fingers instantly like she might get away.

Hell, could you blame him?

“One song,” she repeated, “If he decks you, I’m not helping you sue him.”

“Noted.”

Nick tugged her to the floor. A few of the dancers made way. His hand met her waist, he tried not to think of how his palm fit into the curves, how hot her skin felt from the barrier of the dress, and instead focused on finding the beat between them.

Candy wasn’t shy. She pulled in close to him, chest against his jacket. They glided through the steps with more ease than Nick knew he had – the beginner’s classes he’d taken as a lost bet between him and Widmark stuck where it counted, it seemed. One, two, another turn, Candy’s curls bouncing along to her lower back. He felt them tickle his fingers. Resisted the urge not to tug back.

Closer now, Nick’s voice could meet her ear, and he spoke low, ever wary, “See, I’d think it was that lady you were talking to – be an easy target, yeah?” Something made Candy shudder, and he only smirked through it, “But I remember a certain dame telling me being blunt is unfashionable.”

“She sounds like she has good taste,” Candy breathed as they turned again. The tempo was picking up. Nick leaned back to spin her and then pull her back – only now with her back to his chest. Her arms were crossed, his hands sliding around her waist again. She was hot against him.

“Oh, she does,” he said. How close his breath was to her neck. What’s more, Candy even seemed to _arch_ it, or maybe that was his imagination again. Hoping for the former, Nick stepped with her again, “Some of the best I’ve seen. Which is why I’m taking her advice – it’s better to look in the shadows.”

He spun her back. She was facing him again. They swayed faster with the crowd, and by god she never lost her footing, her dress only accentuating the swing in her hips with every step. “What have the shadows told you, detective?”

“They’ve told me,” he started, letting her go and yanking her back. They were closer than ever now. She glowed in the candlelight, “That you wouldn’t invite me here if you were helping the guy in charge. But you’re too important for just any old joe – nah. Let’s just move a little to the right, then, shall we?”

Before she could respond he was spinning her again and then he dipped, with her extending that one exposed leg long across the floor. Candy tilted her chin to blink at him. “And where would that be?”

Nick grinned. “The dame on Barsconi’s shoulder. You’ve been talking indirectly with her all night – sending messages through various folks to keep it impersonal. That tells me that not only is she your client, but since you’re also avoiding Sal, it’s something to do with their marriage. Divorce or infidelity – haven’t made up my mind yet.” He winked. “Clever, doll. But not clever enough.”

And finally, _finally_ , he’d earned that genuine shock from her, no longer a sliver of surprise but pure, genuine, unadulterated amazement, Candy’s eyes wide and even more expressive beneath her liner. Nick slowly eased her up as the song drew to a stop. He never let her go. Another hand of his slipped around her waist.

“Look at that, tiger…” she whispered. “Guess that answers my question.”

“You gonna enlighten me to what that is, now?”

“Suppose I have to,” she admitted, still not fully grinning, but a glimmer of pleasure in the crinkle of her eyes, “I was wondering how well you’d fit in a dig like this. How seriously you took my business.”

“Why was there room for doubt?”

“You’re a cop, Nick,” she laughed, breathily, “I invite any one of your boys to a joint like this and they’d be busting down the door with enough lead to fill a pencil factory. But you? You blended in. Didn’t start a show. And, frankly, I’m impressed.” He thought he saw her bite her lip, maybe. “I don’t give out my secrets to men who can’t handle them.”

Nick breathed out a crooked smile. But, over her shoulder, those leering eyes again – Nate’s vitriol stare underneath his tilted hat. There was no questioning who he was staring at. Nick knew, in that moment, he should have done anything but what he did next.

He tugged her in. His fingers breezed the small of her back. He felt the small hitch of her breath as he looked back down at her. Nick tilted up her chin.

“I can handle a lot more than you think, _tiger_ ,” his voice was low, intended. “But you gotta be the one to give it to me.”

Candy gulped. Her eyes widened, lips parted. That same expression from last night. “Nick…” she whispered, “I can’t.”

One flick of his gaze up and yep, Nate was still watching, fingers latched so tightly onto the barrister he worried the wood would splinter. “Yeah, sure seems that way, don’t it…” he muttered, then looked back down at her. “Too bad, doll. I treat secrets the way they deserve. Lips locked.”

Another shudder from her. Nick wondered if this would be a pattern. Candy had to fight herself for a response, it seemed, finally finding it after an eternity. “Is he watching?”

“Every move.”

“Oh, Nick…” she murmured, closing her eyes. “I can’t give you more than names, Valentine. But I will give you them. Only if you let me go.”

Funny. Names suddenly didn’t seem all that appealing. But, he did let go, albeit slowly, and not hesitating to let the heat of his fingers sear along every seam in her dress before she was finally out of his arms. Candy stepped back with something painful in her eyes. She still smiled.

“Tomorrow,” she promised, “I’ll give them to you tomorrow. Enjoy the party, detective.”

She left, but Nate never stopped staring, even after she reached him and slid her hand up his arm with enough familiarity to sink Nick’s gut. Nate finally looked away, and back off into the crowd they sank, leaving Nick holding his glass like Nate held that bannister. Funny – things just weren’t breaking when he expected them to anymore.

_Secrets_ , he thought to himself, _Suppose they need keepers too_.

* * *

 

Fort Hagen.

He’d lead them right to Fort Goddamn Hagen.

Candy felt something tight in her chest at the sight – the doors blockaded like some final warning, turrets around them on various corners she’d spotted on the way in. Taken out one before they crossed – but she knew another was waiting on the lefthand side. Thought getting through the front entrance would avoid that. But probably not.

_Why,_ she thought to herself, _Why did it have to be here?_

“Well, our little four legged detective did quite the job,” Nick piped up beside her, leaning down with a small pat for Dogmeat. “Boy, does this place bring back memories.” He paused a bit, she guessed to give her time to answer, but when she didn’t, Nick spoke up again. More concerned, this time. “Uh, get hit in the head? I can relate.”

She jerked. Sucked in a breath and released it quick, shaking her head. “I’m fine,” she spat, more venom than she’d meant, “I’m fine.” Because repeating yourself always did wonders to convince. Nick appeared unaffected by said wonders.

“…If I ask what’s wrong,” he started, “You just gonna wall off on me like before?”

“I don’t wall off anything, detective,” she said, softening her tone, though careful to keep neutral, “I said, I’m _fine_. Just wondering how we’re getting in this place. And around that turret.”

“Yeah, good point.” Nick worked his jaw, peeking out the corner just enough to spot their little bullet-happy friend, and sat back against the wall. “Doesn’t look much of a higher caliber than the other one. I can take it down, give you time to get on that roof. Think I saw some platforms up there. He had to get in here somehow.”

She nodded. Something was sitting uneasy in her chest, but Candy shoved it aside from now, jerking her chin to the turret to show her agreement. Nick raised his pistol. Waited a beat, another, and then he leapt out, firing round after round into the now very angry MK 3000 turret.

Candy was quick behind him. Sure enough, a platforming ramp going up the side, which she scaled quickly and rounded the corner. A few bullets from her own gun shut it down. One sigh of relief later, and she was leaning over the edge, mock-saluting to Nick with what she hoped looked like a confident smirk. Nick returned the gesture, a little more grimly.

He jogged up the platform too. “Thanks for the assist,” he said, and she could tell he meant it, so she did the right thing and didn’t acknowledge it at all. Just waved her hand and walked further around the roof.

“Don’t mention it. I do mean that literally.” Oh, he was probably frowning again, but she didn’t need to look to confirm it. She just heard it in the tone of his voice.

“Honestly,” he grumbled, “If you could just-“

“Now, what’s that?” Candy paid no mind to the interruption as she jogged across the roof. A blue door on the side of the wall – but a tug on the handle had it locked tight. No terminal in sight, either, and she wasn’t going to waste ammo shooting it off. Damn. “This is the only door on here, so he must have gotten in another way. I wonder…”

“Are you just gonna ignore-“

“Maybe the vents?” she muttered, crossing another platform. “Most of these are too small, but maybe if there were a main valve…”

“I think I was saying-“

“Ooh, he might have welded his entrance shut, I had a client who used that method before-“

“Candy!” Nick yelled, suddenly whirling around in front of her, “Damn it, stop brushing me _off_!”

Oh, he was mad. Candy could only blink, watch the way his lip curled around that snarl, the way his shoulders tensed like she was going to attack. Nick just glared back at her, but he just seemed…well, weary about the whole thing, a kind of dread in his eyes she wasn’t used to. It was safe to say it took whatever usual wit she had right out of her throat.

“Candy,” Nick repeated, a little softer, but no less distressed, “Look. I know what running looks like, doll. I did it for a long damn time.” His head tilted a bit, trying to look at her closer. “You don’t have to be scared of me.”

She stepped back. “I’m not scared of _you_ ,” she hissed, “I’m not scared of-“

“Of before? Of someone possibly knowing you further than your good looks and one liners?” Nick stepped closer to her, but didn’t reach out, just balled his fists against some force she didn’t know. “That’s what this is about, ain’t it? You shut down on me the morning after I got to know one, just _one_ damn morsel of who you are now. Now I can’t even say thank you.”

She tightened her lips, but try as she might her eyes wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ land on his, so she settled for just over his shoulder. “I told you, it was acting, I was just-“

“You wanted a tie to before, Cancio. I’ve heard a lotta lies in my day, but that ain’t one of them.” Nick sighed. “If that tie weren’t me, weren’t Nick – would that have made it better?”

There was something off in his tone, something sad, and Candy found herself frowning at it. She managed a quick glance at him, his face, reading the downwards pull of his lips and the way his eyes searched hers with something akin to desperation.

She gulped. “Let’s say I was telling the truth. Just to humor you. Let’s say I wanted a tie to before, but unfortunately, remembered how the before treated me. How I treated _it_. Let’s say, Nick, that I realized what happened when I let that tie unravel because I lost track of myself. Like last night.”

He stepped closer, one hand outstretched. “That’s what I’m tellin’ you, you _didn’t_ -“

“You don’t know what I did or didn’t do, Valentine!” she shot back, “You don’t know how it weighed on me – the mafia, the crime families, the murders – and you sure as _hell_ don’t know about _Nate_. But damn, did I want to impress you. I thought I could at least impress the “you” I made in my head, but then you’re real, and you’re here again, and there’s a whole new world of disappointments I can bring you! Isn’t that fun, detective? Wouldn’t you like to hate me again?”

Candy froze. Her mouth dropped. Nick was equally speechless, not even advancing as she took another step back, one hand coming up to cover her mouth. Her eyes felt hot. God damn, she wouldn’t cry. Not here. Not now.

“Candy…” she heard him mutter, “I never hated you, doll.”

“Yes, you did,” she managed, “You had to. Why wouldn’t you?”

“You’re starting to sound like you wanted me to.” His voice was barely audible at this point, a sad mumble under his breath. “Damn. If I’d- If I’d known this is what you were going through…”

“You wouldn’t have done anything, because I wouldn’t have let you,” she shot back. Candy sniffed. “I should’ve tracked him down myself. I shouldn’t have even asked for your help. Just gotten you out of that vault and left good enough alone.”

He jerked. Hurt flashed through his face. He didn’t even try to cover it. “Doll, what are you-“

“I’m saying, you’re fired, detective.” It probably would have sunk her point, she realized, if she could look at him. “Go on. I’ve got it from here. Or, no, how about this-“ from her pocket she retrieved a pack of caps, and if she’d bothered counting, she would have found around 150, promptly tossed his way. “See? You didn’t even have to do it pro bono-“

“Like hell!” he suddenly said, tossing the caps on the ground, “Damn it, Cancio, I’m not letting this happen again. I ain’t letting that spark I saw in you fizzle out because we had business 200 years ago. I said I’d get you your son. I don’t go back on my word.”

“Go back on it this time, then!” she pleaded, “I just, I don’t-“

“You don’t what?” he growled, “Say it!”

“I don’t want-“

“Want _what_?”

“I don’t want you to get hurt!”

She was panting. Nick was silent. Candy only realized the mortification of her words as her cheeks flushed, ears burning. She hissed, ducking her head. Nick just stepped a bit closer, steps unsure. He was only a foot from her, now.

She didn’t let him speak first. “Fine. You got it. You happy now? I don’t want you getting hurt because of me. Not like before. Not like…” the name was hard, so hard to work out, like venom on her tongue, “Eddie.”

Judging by the physical jerk of Nick’s shoulders, it felt just as venomous to him, too. He stared at her, and she read “unsure” all over his face, but to his credit he gathered himself enough to keep his tone marvelously even. Only after a very, very long pause. “…I’d say Eddie wasn’t all you, but you probably won’t believe me. Instead I’ll just say that if you’re that damn guilty about it, then make it up to me.” Then, his hand was on her shoulder. She looked up at him, and found he was smiling…slightly. “Show me that “before” doesn’t own you anymore, Cancio. Because I don’t think you really want me to get outta here.”

“You can’t,” she started, gulping, “You can’t handle-“

“I can handle a lot more than you think, tiger,” he laughed, and suddenly it was that night again, marble floors and champagne and heated glances with hot hands on her waist, “But you gotta be the one to give it to me.”

Candy was going to hate herself all over again for this, she knew. But despite herself, despite everything, she felt a smile along her lips, and her fingers met his on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. He squeezed back.

“You’re making a mistake,” she whispered. He shrugged.

“I thought that brain scan was a mistake, but I’m here now, ain’t I?” Nick rolled his eyes. “Let’s not be too quick to judge.”

At that, they both laughed, lightly and comfortable, before she eased his hand off her shoulder again. Candy took in a deep breath. Steadied the rapid beating in her chest. Emotion took a backseat, and then she straightened, and saw something like respect work a smirk onto Nick’s jaw.

“I think he’s gotten in through a work entrance, if we can find one,” she offered. “You still wanna come along?”

“And miss the show? Not for the world.” Nick started reloading his pistol. “I’m behind you on this, Candy. All the way to the end.”

“Well,” she purred, “At least you’ll get a good view.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one down! I know I'm a little slow posting on this one, so sorry again, stuff just keeps happening around here. I would really appreciate any thoughts y'all have on this story, though - it's a bit of labor of love to the noir genre and just, nick in general. Thanks!


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